


Mais nous étions ensemble

by RavenXavier



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friendship, Les Miserables Reverse Bang, M/M, Panic Attacks, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:16:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4113552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenXavier/pseuds/RavenXavier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Courfeyrac hesitated to hug Enjolras. It lasted a second only, but Courfeyrac paused before Enjolras raised his arms, and it felt so wrong that Grantaire couldn’t help but look at his other friends to make sure he hadn’t imagined it. Nobody had seemed to notice - or, at least, nobody seemed <em> surprised. </em>"</p><p>(In which Enjolras is an alchemist losing his way, everybody is unbalanced and scared by it, and nothing is more powerful than friendship in the end.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mais nous étions ensemble

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this has been one hell of a journey, but this is dooone! This was written for Les [ Misérables Reverse Bang ](http://lesmiserablesreversebang.tumblr.com), and inspired by the awesome art of [ lapieuvrebleue! ](http://lapieuvrebleue.tumblr.com) that you can find [ here ](http://juin1832.tumblr.com/post/121953728963/here-is-the-drawing-i-made-for-the-miserable)
> 
> Thank you, as always, to the most wonderful beta in the world, aka Chloé, without whom this story wouldn't have been probably be half as good (or like, finished). 
> 
> The title comes from the song called "Ensemble" de Jean-Jacques Goldman
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoy this story!

Among all the misconceptions that existed about witches - and Grantaire had had the pleasure to hear about them for a large part of his life - perhaps the truest one was that a witch lived better in a forest than in a city. The idiom existed mainly because most covens had decided to establish themselves outside towns and villages a long time ago, but those who still used it consciously ignored the fact that it hadn’t been so much of a choice at all; people didn’t want witches anywhere near them, so witches went where nobody else would be - in the forests and in the mountains, yes, but also in the hollow of hills and the cavities of cliffs. Witches had started to built their homes in inhospitable territories by necessity, but nowadays it was done more by tradition, and a lot of witches had moved back to the cities.

Still - there was something to be said about the peace that came with wilderness and the effects it had on someone with magical powers. Before Grantaire had accepted Fantine’s invitation to join her coven for a few months, he had never really been outside of cities. The closest he had come to nature was when he was a child and that his mother took his sister and him to the sea, or when Enjolras randomly decided that his newest experiment needed to be made outside in the middle of nowhere and Grantaire followed him, because that’s what he always did.

It wasn’t like his home of the last four months was so far from civilization - in fact, it was barely thirty minutes away from Paris - but it did feel like it. Fantine and Valjean’s old farm was built in a clearing in the forest, and everywhere Grantaire looked he was surrounded by trees - even the nearest town, Bièvres, seemed like a world away. At first, Grantaire had thought he would probably get bored after two weeks - as much as he liked and respected Fantine, he was used to Paris’s constant febrility, and, more importantly, he _loved_ it. But as it turned out, there was no time for boredom under Fantine’s tutelage, and the more she taught him about his own magic, the more Grantaire learnt to appreciate the quiet moments beneath the trees, when everything felt so _clear_ and his power came to him easily.

There was a very small river just behind the farm, and this was where Grantaire spent most of his free time nowadays. He sat crossed-legged against a frail tree which had never had the chance to catch as much sun as its much taller neighbours, and he tried to put into practice all of Fantine’s lessons - it hadn’t taken him long to realize he succeeded more often near the river than anywhere else. Of course, he also spent a large amount of those hours idly sketching whatever came to his mind, from the scenery to Fantine and all of her coven to his friends, the one thing he missed the most since he’d left Paris.

They’d come to visit a few times, all of them, but the truth was, when you were used to seeing people pretty much every day, it was hard to satisfy yourself with a few hours here and there. Especially since they generally came by small groups of two or three only - or even alone in Jehan’s case, since as the sole other witch of les amis they were invited to participate to the coven’s open ceremonies. Although Grantaire was always glad for their presence, he ached for all the evenings they’d spent together, even the more serious meetings, the ones Grantaire only went to because he liked to see and hear the passion in his friends’ voices. He missed sitting between Joly and Bossuet and the laughter that always followed all this seriousness, he missed all their familiar antics, Bahorel’s latest fashion advice and Combeferre’s new findings, Courfeyrac’s outbursts and Jehan’s sweet poems. He missed watching Enjolras and Feuilly from the corner of his eye, their heads bent together, talking in a low voice about their experiments. He missed their warmth and easy friendship, and this quiet certainty that took hold of him during those moments, the feeling that he belonged with them.

They were the reason why Grantaire would not join Fantine’s coven, even though he liked everyone in it. A coven, after all, was a witch’s family, and les amis were already Grantaire’s.

As he idly waved his fingers, watching a trickle of water lazily leaving the river to come curl up around his wrist, Grantaire allowed himself to think about coming back to Paris. Thanks to Fantine, he felt in control of his powers for the first time in his life, and he wondered how much it would change things in the future - how it would change things with _Enjolras._ He’d been his assistant for almost five years, but now he would _actually_ be able to help him properly; before, Grantaire’s use of his magic had been erratic at best - he’d mastered party tricks, but anything bigger had generally been purely instinctual, and had sometimes lead to terrible results. The idea of using his magic purposefully, of using it _for Enjolras,_ was thrilling.

Of course, it implied that Enjolras still wanted to work with him. Enjolras who’d put up with him all this time simply because Grantaire was very hard to repel, Enjolras who’d actively encouraged him to accept Fantine’s invitation, Enjolras who’d only came to visit once and with whom Grantaire hadn’t even talked since. It’d been more than three months now. Grantaire was pretty sure than they’d never spent so much time apart from each other since he’d started following him around years before but, not surprisingly, this new situation seemed to bother Enjolras far less than it did Grantaire.

It stung, just a bit - Grantaire had been almost sure that they were something close to friends these days, even if their kind of friendship was far different than the one they shared with all the others. Still, if Enjolras had truly changed his mind and decided he didn’t need Grantaire around, Grantaire had no idea what he would do - the boy he’d been, the one who’d refused to leave Enjolras’ side despite his (sometimes angry) protests, it wasn’t really _him_ anymore. Grantaire had grown up; if Enjolras told him to go now, he would - which didn’t mean that Enjolras meant anything less to him than he did five years ago. On the contrary, he thought resignedly, Enjolras meant _so much more_ nowadays.

But his numerous and very complicated feelings for Enjolras weren’t something he liked to dwell on, so he concentrated again on the water and moved his fingers more purposefully until the trickle of water rose above the river again and bent unnaturally to form a graceful capital R. It seemed impossible to him that when Fantine had first asked him to try this, he’d barely been able to hold the water in the air. Now it felt so easy, so familiar, that his R stayed perfectly still when he suddenly heard footsteps behind him and startled. People very rarely came to find him here.

“Sorry,” Cosette’s voice came quietly. She appeared at his side a few seconds later, and grinned down at him sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. May I?” she added, nodding at the water.

“Sure,” Grantaire said pleasantly, and he slowly let go of his hold on the trickle, feeling Cosette’s magic mingle with his for a short moment before she’d taken complete control of it.

The letter dissolved to leave place to a simple heart-shaped figure, and the water gradually changed color and turned purple. Then Cosette pursed her lips and snapped her fingers, and Grantaire raised his eyebrows, amused, as myriads of sparkles seemed to shoot from thin air and settled inside the heart. It looked stylish and easier than Grantaire knew it was - a perfect Cosette creation.

“Cute,” he complimented her. “Did Floréal show you how to keep the sparkles still?”

“No, it was Irma,” Cosette replied, experimenting by stretching her heart little by little. “She’s good with them.”

Grantaire made the appropriate disbelieving sound at that, which prompted Cosette to giggle, and then they fell silent again. Cosette liked to take her time before saying whatever she needed to say, something she’d clearly inherited from her father’s overly cautious attitude about everything, and so Grantaire tried to be patient as she played with her creation, but he couldn’t help but start to feel uneasy as the minutes passed.

Cosette hadn’t left Paris in almost a month - according to Matelote, she’d met a boy recently in the park and went back there every Sunday to see him. It was, apparently, the first time Cosette was so enamoured with someone that she decided not to come home every weekend as she used to. Grantaire had been the witness of way too many conversations between Fantine, Valjean, Fauchelevent and Simplice about this - Fantine and Valjean were disproportionately worried, and Fauchelevent and Simplice alternated between reassuring them and simply rolling their eyes. The point was that Cosette being here was a bit odd already - Cosette being _here_ and not completely monopolized by her parents was actually worrying.

“Alright,” he said finally, “the suspense is killing me here. Give me _something._ ”

“There’s not much to give at all,” Cosette said carefully, letting the water go back into the river. “Courfeyrac and Feuilly came with me, and they’re with my mom right now. They didn’t tell me much, but I think something is going on with Courfeyrac’s powers.”

“That’s already a fucking lot,” Grantaire answered sharply, and immediately got on his feet.

“He looked fine otherwise, R,” Cosette told him, following him as he started to rush towards the small path that would lead back to the farm.

Grantaire didn’t answer. He knew that if Courfeyrac was there, it had to be his last resort, and however small the problem was with his powers, it meant that none of les amis - neither Combeferre and Joly, _nor Enjolras and Feuilly,_ had managed to find a solution. That alone made it big in Grantaire’s book, which is why he hurried through the trees, trying to remember if he had noticed anything weird about Courfeyrac the last time he had came.

There was nothing obvious he could recall, but of course it’d been awhile since Grantaire had seen him, even though Courfeyrac was one of his most frequent visitors. Courfeyrac had been affectionate, perhaps more so than usual, but then again if anybody in the group might feel truly unbalanced about Grantaire not being with them, it would be him. At the time Grantaire had been more than happy to cuddle at his side anyway - there was a particular warmth to Courfeyrac that couldn’t be found with anybody else. It was something that les amis used to talk about a lot, in the early days when they just had met, the way they all naturally gravitated around Courfeyrac and how radiant it made him. And then his powers had appeared, and everything had just become… natural.

As the farm came into view, Cosette put her hand on Grantaire's arm, bringing him back to reality. When he turned to look at her, she smiled gently.

"You don't have to run," she said. "you know mom won't let you in until they're done."

She was right, of course; Fantine liked her conversations to be private, especially the more professional ones. Still, Grantaire felt restless, and it must have showed on his face, because Cosette's eyes softened. She linked their arms together and they started walking again. They didn't talk, but Cosette softly hummed a song that Grantaire didn't recognise under her breath and he slowly relaxed. This was one of those natural powers that Cosette had and that she shared with her mother - she could calm down anyone with a few notes.

They reached the farm's patio quickly. Valjean was sitting in the shadows of the house, reading, but he immediately looked up when they approached and a warm smile appeared on his face. Cosette grinned back and let go of Grantaire to go embrace him. Grantaire looked inside the house, hesitated, then glanced back at Valjean and Cosette.

"They're still talking," said Valjean. "There's no point in waiting alone, you can just sit there."

"I don't want to interrupt," Grantaire muttered.

Cosette rolled her eyes.

"You're not," Valjean answered for her warmly.

Grantaire sat down.

He listened as Cosette talked to her father about her latest adventures. In other circumstances, he would have certainly be curious about the fact that she didn't mention any boy or what she did on Sundays, but right now his mind was in Fantine's office. He wondered if there was a spell that would allow him to hear what was said, and then determined that if anyone knew, it would be Matelote and Gibelote, who liked to gossip almost as much as Joly and Bossuet. He was regretting the fact that he didn’t have any means of communication on him to contact them _right now_ when they heard a door open inside the house, and he straightened up immediately.

Feuilly appeared first and grinned when she saw Grantaire, moving towards him immediately. Grantaire met her halfway and kissed her cheeks, savouring the familiar feeling of Feuilly’s headscarf against his skin and her sweet, subtle orange smell.

“It’s been a while,” Feuilly said when they parted, looking at him all over, her hand resting on Grantaire’s shoulder. “How are you, R?”

“Splendid,” Grantaire answered. “How are _you?_ How’s everyone? Cosette said something was wrong with Courfeyrac’s powers -”

“It’s just a glitch,” Another voice said cheerfully, and when Grantaire looked behind Feuilly’s shoulder, Courfeyrac waved at him.

As soon as he saw him, Grantaire knew immediately what was the problem; there was no missing it, as it was right there in the middle of his face. His eyes were rounder and slightly larger than usual, and his pupils were completely constricted - and if Grantaire was used to see them like this when Courfeyrac transformed into a cat, it was a very odd vision on his human form.

“A glitch,” he repeated, dubious. “D’you have the tail that goes with it too, or is it just the striking look for now?”

“I wish!” Courfeyrac retorted mournfully. “Or at least, I wish it was the tail rather than the eyes - it would be harder to hide, sure, but man, cat vision during the day is _bullshit._ ”

“He’s been whining about it for four days,” Feuilly said, trying to sound exasperated and only coming off as fond. “That is, when he’s not bragging about his _night_ vision. It came to a point when Bahorel begged him to actually stay a cat because it was easier to ignore meowing.”

“It was rude,” Courfeyrac pointed out with a grin that ruined his attempt at an offended voice.

“Can you still do it, though?” Grantaire asked with a raised eyebrow. “Transform, I mean?”

“Last time I checked, yes. I haven’t done it in a few days but it’s only because I don’t want to get stuck as a cat or transform back and realize that I’ve still got the ears or that I lost my voice.” Courfeyrac answered a bit more seriously.

“Don’t worry,” Fantine said, and Grantaire startled and guiltily realized he hadn’t paid attention to anything that wasn’t Courfeyrac or Feuilly in the past few minutes. Fantine glanced at him like she knew, smiling amusedly, and then turned back to Courfeyrac, putting a hand on his elbow. “We’ll figure this out. Now, you’re of course both invited to stay tonight. I think Fauchelevent is planning to make a barbecue; If you need anything else in the meantime, I’m sure Grantaire will be delighted to help you.”

“Well,” Courfeyrac said, looking at Grantaire with a grave air. “ _I_ need a hug.”

“Aren’t you greedy,” Grantaire scoffed but he also opened his arms and smiled when Courfeyrac came running to him, immediately feeling warmer once their bodies were pressed together and he put his head on Courfeyrac’s shoulder.

“I missed you,” Courfeyrac whispered, open and heartfelt.

Grantaire’s arms tightened around him. “Me too,” he said.

He looked at Feuilly at the same time, and frowned as something… odd briefly appeared in her eyes - whether it was worry, or sadness, or something else entirely, he couldn’t tell, it was gone as quickly as it had come. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but before he could open his mouth Courfeyrac moved away and cheerfully started to talk about Paris and the terrible romantic thing Joly and Bossuet had tried to pull off for Musichetta, and it slipped from Grantaire’s mind for a few hours as he avidly caught up with his friends’ lives, Courfeyrac and Feuilly telling him all the absurd adventures he was missing as well as the serious ones while Grantaire lead them around the farm.

Eventually they ended up right back on the patio and sat at the edge of the wooden terrasse. The sun was shining a little less brightly, and the horizon was tinted with pink. Further away in the garden, Cosette, Valjean and Fauchelevent had started working on the fire for the barbecue, Cosette carefully handling the flames under the fond eyes of her dad and uncle. Fantine and Simplice weren’t far either, sitting on a bench, their hands loosely intertwined together. It made for a lovely picture, and Grantaire reached for Feuilly’s fingers while leaning a bit more into Courfeyrac. He felt like he should have been happy, but something was nagging at him, ruining the peaceful moment.

“Are you hiding something from me?” he asked quietly, thinking hard about everything that his friends had told him during those few hours. “You’ve barely talked about Enjolras today.”

“There’s not much to say,” Courfeyrac said as if Grantaire couldn’t feel the way he had tensed against him. “He… works a lot.”

“The lack of his useless assistant didn’t slow him down much, then, uh?” Grantaire muttered, trying not to sound bitter, or worse, disappointed.

“Don’t say that,” Feuilly said sharply - so sharply that it made Grantaire glance at her, a bit surprised. She softened immediately. “It’s a bit weird without you; for all of us, including Enjolras.”

Certain that he wouldn’t be able to hide his emotions if he answered right now, Grantaire only squeezed her hand, and Feuilly squeezed back, her eyes gentle but serious. On his other side, Courfeyrac sighed almost wistfully, as if he could feel everything that was going on between Feuilly and Grantaire right now - which, now that Grantaire thought about it, he probably actually could.

“When are you coming back to Paris, you think?” he asked into Grantaire’s shoulder.

“When you are,” Grantaire replied instinctively, and as soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew that he wouldn’t go back on them - it was time. Paris called for him, and so were his friends. He’d learnt enough for now. _It was time to go home._

 

*

 

If Grantaire had had to use only one word to describe Fantine’s office, it would have been _cozy._ The room was tiny, but clear, with beige walls and a soft dark orange carpet. There was no actual desk, but a small wooden table and around it, two chairs and a couch. All of the right wall was covered in books, not only about witchcraft but everything even remotely related to the magical. On the opposite side, herbs and flasks, a cauldron, a tea and coffee set, and two paintings with warm colors and dark shadows that Fantine avoided looking at, even though she refused to take them off the wall.

Grantaire had spent enough time in it this past few months that he knew every corner of it by heart, and so when he entered that morning, he immediately noticed the fact that some books were missing from the bookcases. Two of them, at the very least, had not went far, since they were opened on the table and another one was currently in Fantine’s hands. It still made at least five others unaccounted for, but Grantaire didn’t dwell on it, focusing on the book that Fantine was holding instead: _Secrets de Familiers._

“Did you find something for Courfeyrac?” he asked as he sat on one of the chairs.

“Not exactly,” Fantine said, and then looked up to smile at him. Grantaire had a feeling she knew perfectly why he had come. “A lot of what we know about Familiars never seemed to perfectly apply to him, after all,” she kept going. “I think, however, you might be the solution.”

“Me?”

“You’re here to tell me that you want to go back to Paris with your friends,” Fantine pointed out, and Grantaire would have felt offended about being such an open book if he didn’t suspect that Fantine had reached this conclusion from Courfeyrac’s loud cheers the night before rather than him precisely. There was no judgement at all in her voice, nor disappointment, which also reassured Grantaire, to his own surprise - he hadn’t realized he was so scared of her reaction.

“Yes,” he admitted easily now. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me, you and your coven are wonderful but my life is in Paris and, to be honest, I really miss my friends.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” Fantine nodded, and closed her book, leaning slightly toward Grantaire. “In fact, have you not decided it yourself, I might have suggested it to you anyway - _not_ because you’ve done anything wrong, I would have welcomed you formally in our coven with great joy if you had wanted, but those four months away seem to have pushed a limit and I wouldn’t want things to get more complicated for Courfeyrac.”

“...Are you saying that it’s because of _me_ that Courfeyrac can’t get rid of his cat eyes?” Grantaire asked, a sudden uneasiness twisting his stomach.

“In my opinion, it’s the most likely reason, yes,” Fantine said very gently. “Not that you have to feel guilty about anything - Courfeyrac’s situation is very peculiar, and you’re all learning blindly. But since he’s the familiar of all eight of you and not just one, it makes sense that he needs to be close to all eight of you for his powers to keep working properly. ”

Grantaire, feeling restless, got up from the chair and took a few steps towards the flasks and herbs. There were myriads of questions pressing against his lips, but he had no idea where to start, or even if Fantine would have the answers. How far did this new rule go for Courfeyrac? Did that mean that they would never be able to truly leave each other, even if - for some reasons Grantaire couldn’t think of right now - they wanted to? What would happen if one of them disappeared, if one of them _died?_ It wasn’t like their activities were always without danger. How would it affect Courfeyrac? How badly would it go if they weren’t careful? None of them had really ever thought that they could be negative aspects to Courfeyrac’s link with all of them. It was odd and extraordinary and it had fascinated them, but they never imagined that it could be _dangerous._

“Grantaire,” Fantine called him softly. Grantaire turned to look at her; she’d risen too and moved to join him, taking his hands into hers. “Courfeyrac is alright,” she reminded him. “There’s no reason for him not to _stay_ alright. You’re going back to Paris, and that’s going to solve his small problem. Think of his powers as a sort of physical representation of your friendship - right now, it’s a little bit perturbed because none of you are used to being separated for so long, but soon enough it will adjust again.”

Grantaire thought of reminding her that she didn’t _know_ that, she was just making hypotheses, but Fantine was rarely wrong, and her assumption made sense. It was so logical, in fact, that it was a wonder that none of the amis had suggested it themselves. Why come to Fantine at all? Unless, of course, they hadn’t really come for _Fantine_ but for Grantaire. They probably hadn’t wanted to say _come home_ explicitly because they didn’t want to force him to do anything - that did sound like them.

“You’re right,” he said to Fantine and then adds fondly. “I’m going to miss your wise speeches.”

Fantine smiled, small wrinkles appearing in the corner of her very soft blue eyes, the ones she shared with her daughter, and she let go of Grantaire’s hands to cup his cheeks instead. The gesture was gentle and maternal and Grantaire’s chest swelled with emotions he couldn’t quite examine right now.

“I’m going to miss you too,” she said very honestly. “But you know that you will always be welcome here. You’re one of mine, even if you’re not part of my coven.”

When she bent down to kiss his forehead, Grantaire blinked quickly several times, his eyes a bit wet.

“Thank you,” he muttered when she moved away. “For everything you’ve done.”

“It was my pleasure,” she answered. “Now go, and send me Courfeyrac, I want to look over a few things with him anyway before you all leave. I also think Fauchelevent would appreciate it if you helped him one last time with the garden. He won’t say anything, but I know his knee has been bothering him more lately.”

“Your wish is my command,” Grantaire bowed, and he was still grinning when Fantine rolled her eyes and ushered him out of the room.

 

*

 

In four months, the Musain hadn’t changed at all. Grantaire had a brief moment of irreality as he took in the familiar tables and chairs, the low lamps, the ridiculously small stage in the far left corner, the bar, and then the narrow staircase on the right that hid the corridor leading to the kitchens and the backroom of the coffee-shop. Behind the counter, Louison waved at them before turning her attention back to the man sitting in front of her. Grantaire, feeling like perhaps he had dreamt all those months away, startled when Feuilly put a hand on his back.

“Come on,” she said with an amused smile, “Courfeyrac has made sure that everybody was there and I admit I’m curious to see their reactions.”

Courfeyrac had indeed decided that it would be hilarious to come back with Grantaire without telling the others, and Grantaire hadn’t taken any real convincing at all, already imagining the faces of everybody as he walked casually into the room. Of course, now there was also some anticipation and a certain nervosity there, too - Le Musain hadn’t changed, but Le Musain was a building, it was expected; what about his friends? What was going to be different? What was going to be the same? Would he still be able to mingle easily among them or would he have to learn again how to be with them?

Feuilly and him walked to the corridor. It was darker there, quieter. Enjolras had been so pleased by it the first time Grantaire had led them there for their official _meeting._ He’d never said it was because of the mysterious atmosphere, but Grantaire _knew_ about his love for secret rooms and passages (the stairs that lead to Enjolras’ own lab were hidden behind _curtains_ and that was not a coincidence, no matter what Enjolras always claimed), and he remembered perfectly the small, satisfied smile that Enjolras had offered him later. He still went over the memory in his mind from time to time - he always felt warmer afterwards, especially if he’d just argued with Enjolras about something idiotic.

“Ready?” Feuilly whispered when they arrived to the door.

Grantaire raised his thumbs. Feuilly gave him one last quick smile, and opened the door, disappearing through it. Almost immediately, Grantaire heard Bahorel loudly saying _“Ha, Feuilly!”_ and everybody greeting her. He waited a few seconds more, and then he made his entrance.

He walked in silently which meant that Courfeyrac was the only one who noticed him immediately, everybody else either already looking at their work again or Feuilly. Courfeyrac grinned widely, although he kept a very casual voice when he said:

“Oh, hello, Grantaire.”

“Hello, Courfeyrac,” Grantaire answered with the same tone, and when his other friends sharply turned their heads toward him, he waved his fingers lightly. “Hello, everyone.”

He only caught glimpses of his friends’ reactions - Combeferre looking taken aback, Joly squealing - before he was literally swept off his feet by Bahorel. He put his arms around her neck, laughing, and they stayed like that for a good moment until Bossuet started to protest loudly that he wanted a hug too. After Bossuet came Joly, and after Joly was Jehan, and then Combeferre, until suddenly Grantaire was in front of Enjolras and froze, wondering if he should go for a hug like with everybody else, or maybe a hand-shake, or even a simple nod.

Enjolras and him never _hugged._ It wasn’t something they consciously avoided - they touched a lot, both of them being rather tactile, especially Enjolras - but hugging had always felt to Grantaire like crossing a sort of invisible boundary. It was alright to hug friends, and Enjolras _was_ a friend now, but he hadn’t really been for the longest time, stuck despite himself into the role of savior that Grantaire had almost desperately needed him to fill. In any case, the idea of hugging him now still felt weird and foreign, and if Enjolras’ careful posture was to be believed, he wasn’t the only one hesitating.

Of course, Enjolras wasn’t one to stay uncertain for long - it was one of the things Grantaire liked the most about him - and he ended up lifting his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder and squeezing it gently.

“It’s great to have you back,” he said, warm and sincere.

There was still a clear element of awkwardness there; Grantaire was all too aware of their friends unsubtle looks, of the fact that he had no idea what to do with his hands or that he couldn’t find back any of the easy happiness he’d felt moments before with the others. Everything was always so complicated with Enjolras nowadays, Grantaire almost missed the time he used to adore him blindly. He wished he could just say _I missed you_ or a joke, or even a simple _It’s great to be back._ Instead, he could only think of retorting: _is it? did you want me back? why didn’t you come to see me?_ but it felt uselessly needy and provocative, and Grantaire was trying to be better about that.

Enjolras’ hand was still lingering on his arm. Grantaire smiled, and Enjolras’ eyes seemed to soften in answer, his lips curling up slightly. That was good. Grantaire tried to find something to say, but in the end, Combeferre beat him to it:

“Courfeyrac - your eyes!”

All the attention was immediately redirected to Courfeyrac. With a jolt of relief, Grantaire realized that Combeferre’s exclamation had only been of surprise, or perhaps excitement - Courfeyrac’s eyes were once again very brown and, more important, very human. Courfeyrac, beaming, jumped on his feet and started his own tour of hugs. Enjolras’ hand disappeared as Courfeyrac cheerfully approached them; perhaps it was only because Grantaire missed it as soon as it was gone that he was extra-aware of what happened - Courfeyrac hesitated to hug Enjolras. It lasted a second only, but Courfeyrac paused before Enjolras raised his arms, and it felt so wrong that Grantaire couldn’t help but look at his other friends to make sure he hadn’t imagined it. Nobody had seemed to notice - or, at least, nobody seemed _surprised._ When he turned his head back to watch Courfeyrac and Enjolras, they were holding to each other tightly, as if they hadn’t seen each other in a while, and Grantaire wondered if perhaps they had argued in his absence.

He didn’t have time to think about it much. Courfeyrac stepped away from Enjolras’ embrace and went directly into Grantaire’s arms.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Didn’t do much,” Grantaire pointed out.

“You came back,” Courfeyrac retorted.

“I was planning on coming back anyway,” he answered. “But I’m glad it helped you.”

“All of us,” Coufeyrac whispered, and before Grantaire, startled, could ask what he was talking about, he moved again and said louder: “Okay people, next round is on me because I can _see_ properly and everybody should share my joy!”

“And Grantaire is here!” Bossuet shouted good-naturedly.

This made Courferac shout back: _“No love left for me now!”_ but he was grinning when he pushed Grantaire towards Bossuet and Joly, and he and Bahorel disappeared to go fetch drinks for everybody. They came back with Louison just as Grantaire was starting a pun war with Bossuet (“ _Be kind,_ ” said Joly, “ _R must be rusty._ ”, “ _How dare you!_ ” Grantaire exclaimed, offended), and he smiled at her, touched, when she put a bottle of cider in front of him with a nod. Cider was the only thing remotely alcoholic Grantaire had drank those past few months - a fact that Louison must have noticed when she came to Fantine’s - and he privately considered it a success. Someone like him couldn’t get drunk on _cider._ It was almost like being sober.

The next hours passed with such great humor that Grantaire barely realized that everybody around him was getting drunker and drunker until Joly was helplessly giggling against Bossuet who was trying - and failing - to finish the joke that Joly had started telling Grantaire. Of course, that in itself wasn’t a proof that they’d had too much to drink - Joly and Bossuet were generally bad at telling jokes in their entirety, even though they always made people laugh anyway because their laughter was that contagious - but it was enough to make Grantaire look around. He discovered that Jehan had fallen asleep against Feuilly, who was showing an empty bottle to Combeferre, both of them examining it very seriously like it held the secrets of the universe; Courfeyrac and Bahorel had started to sing an opera air. Enjolras, quiet and pensive next to them, seemed more sober, which didn’t surprise Grantaire. It looked like he was doodling on a napkin.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. Enjolras never actually doodled - he wrote. Which meant that he had to be working right now, and as such it was probably Grantaire’s duty to interrupt him. He left Bossuet and Joly’s side, who didn’t seem to notice, and walked the small distance between their table and Enjolras’. Grantaire sat next to him and glanced at the napkin - runes and numbers were written everywhere, some bigger than others, some underlined and some crossed several times. Enjolras’ pen stilled.

“Grantaire,” he said, his tone even, his look guarded.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Grantaire said, rolling his eyes. “You know I don’t understand a thing about your gibberish, alchemist.”

He was pleased when Enjolras visibly relaxed and turned properly towards him, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Shall I call you only witch now?” he asked.

“Well,” Grantaire said, “I certainly deserve it. Look, I can do _this_ ,” he raised his fingers, concentrating on the napkin, and grinned when it started to fold itself before leaving the table and flying to Enjolras’ jacket. “There,” he said happily. “I bet you’re very impressed.”

“Very,” Enjolras answered seriously, his hand brushing against the pocket where the napkin was now hidden. “I’m glad you have more control on your powers. I can only assume it means you’ll start to actually do things as my assistant, now?” he added, his eyes teasing.

“I already did plenty, thank you,” Grantaire retorted, acting offended to hide the relief he felt knowing that Enjolras _did_ intend to keep him around. “It’s a wonder you’re even still alive! Who’s been bringing you coffee and food and forcing you to step away from your experiments for a few hours to sleep while I was away, uh? Who’s been distracting you from work with awesome puns?”

“You’re underestimating our friends,” Enjolras pointed out mildly. “But I have to admit there’s nobody quite as good as you for the job,” he added immediately after, softer.

“High praise,” Grantaire said with another pleased grin and leaned back against the wall, his shoulder brushing against Enjolras’. “So, what are you working on these days?”

“We’ll have time to talk about it later,” Enjolras said, and his voice was as friendly as it’d been a moment before, but Grantaire couldn’t help but stare at him, his stomach dropping. He was pretty sure he had never heard Enjolras refusing to talk about his work before. Enjolras turned his head away. “We should probably bring everyone home,” he said. “It’s late.”

It felt like a slap in the face - Grantaire knew Enjolras too well not to recognize one of his polite dismissals, and he _didn’t understand._ They’d been fine, just before, hadn’t they? _What did I do wrong?_ he wanted to ask. _Why are you pushing me away?_ Almost too unsettled to be angry or sad, he managed to mutter a weak “Yeah, alright”and barely registered Enjolras briefly touching his arm again before getting up to join Courfeyrac and Bahorel, who’d switched register and were now singing a dramatic rendition of Lorie’s _“Je serai ta meilleure amie”_.

Something was wrong, Grantaire thought. Something had to be wrong, but he had no idea what it was, and as long as he was in the dark, he wouldn’t be able to fix it. At least he was definitely back now - surely whatever it was, Enjolras wouldn’t be able to hide it from him too long.

 

*

 

It wasn’t until a week later that Grantaire finally gave in and decided to say something.

It’d been building up since Enjolras had tensed quite obviously the first morning Grantaire had joined him in his lab holding two cups of coffee, an old tee-shirt proudly saying _Copernic Ta Mère,_ and a somewhat hopeful smile. At first, Grantaire had simply assumed that it was because Enjolras had lost the habit of having someone showing up in his lab all the time - except, apparently, les amis _had_ been coming regularly to see him while Grantaire was away, which was probably sensible of them. But Enjolras tensed every single time they entered, except with Grantaire, though it _had_ taken a couple of days before he stopped. As for the rest of their friends, their visits had become sparse after the first few days, when they kept being almost surprised to see Grantaire, but Grantaire hadn’t forgotten their worried glances and the sad curl of their mouths when they looked at Enjolras’ posture.

There were other things, too - small things that wouldn’t have been so odd if they didn’t keep piling up on top of each other. Enjolras getting so lost in his work that Grantaire had to call out to him several times before he answered, Enjolras forgetting to eat from time to time, trying to add discreetly one of his concoctions in his coffee, checking several times that the door to the lab was properly closed, patiently waiting for Grantaire to leave the room to “clean up” his latest experiments. Enjolras looking exhausted and unhappy after having accidentally made a rock explode, far more exhausted than he should have been from such a little dose of alchemy, and looking almost annoyed as Grantaire tended to the burn on his cheek.

The last one had happened yesterday afternoon - Grantaire had almost spoken up then, but Enjolras had looked ready to crumble, so he’d kept his mouth shut, only making sure that Enjolras left his experiments behind for the rest of the day and pushing him out of the lab. When he’d found Enjolras already examining the rest of the rock this morning, however, black shadows underneath his eyes, and asked him what the hell he was doing here when he was clearly still unwell, Enjolras had casually said that he’d spent the night here because he couldn’t stop wondering about what had went wrong, and Grantaire knew that it had gone on long enough.

There were a lot of things that Enjolras didn’t pay attention to because he was too busy caring about more important things like his friends and alchemy and the future of humankind and the secrets of the Earth - what day it was, for example, or his clothes, or the popular music of the moment. But Enjolras had always been reasonable when it came to his body needs. He ate Grantaire’s food, listened to Combeferre and Joly’s advice on his health, drank a lot of water, went to sleep at regular hours and he always took it easy for at least a day when an experiment tired him more than usual. In the five years that Grantaire had known him, Enjolras had never been too entranced by his work that he forgot to care about himself and this was - scary.

Grantaire, after all, had already experienced once what it meant when an Alchemist started to care more about the work than the outside world. He couldn’t bear the idea that it was what was happening to Enjolras.He had always been creative and bold with his experiments, had more often than not gone very deep into the alchemy arts and the consequences had always been so ridiculously small, compared to what happened to others - tiredness, yes, some physical effects like cramps and aches - but Enjolras’ mind had always stayed _clear_. It seemed impossible that it would change _now._ And yet...

Enjolras had already turned back to whatever he was doing when Grantaire cleared his throat, dark thoughts twirling in his mind like poison.

“Alright,” he said. “Alright, enough, what’s going on Enjolras?”

Enjolras raised his head slowly, glancing at him with furrowed brows:

“I’m sorry?”

“Did something happen while I was gone?” Grantaire tried again, curling his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“I’m sure the others would have told you if the answer was yes,” Enjolras replied, his voice carefully measured. He looked closed-off, his eyes guarded, _defensive,_ and Grantaire felt his stomach twist.

“Come on,” he said, trying not to sound too frustrated. “You’ve not been yourself since I came back, we both know it! So what happened? Did I - Did I do something?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Enjolras said, shaking his head, his hands already moving again to the pile of papers on his desk. “This is ridiculous.”

The _“you’re being ridiculous_ ” was clearly implied, and Grantaire had a sudden flash-back of being nine and being completely ignored by his mother as he tried to tell her about his father’s odd behaviour. It was abrupt and left a bad taste in his mouth - Grantaire generally tried not to think about his childhood for a reason, and he certainly hated the idea that there could be anything remotely similar between Enjolras’ attitude and the way his parents used to be sometimes.

“No,” he snapped before he could stop himself. Enjolras looked at him again sharply. “No, you don’t get to pretend this _isn’t_ serious or that I’m inventing something that’s not there. You’ve been dismissive, forgetful, impatient and almost paranoid all week, Enjolras!” Enjolras pursed his lips, and Grantaire moved closer to him, his voice softer when he continued: “Something _has_ to have happened. Did you try something new, something big? Have you been asked to do something in particular? Did you push a boundary, or had a great success or -”

“You left,” Enjolras interrupted him harshly.

Completely thrown off, Grantaire closed his mouth, staring at him uncomprehendingly. Of all the things he had expected Enjolras to say, this was definitely not it. It hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“You _encouraged_ me to leave!” he ended up saying, baffled and annoyed. “You know I would have never left you if you hadn’t.”

It was only years of studying his face that told Grantaire that Enjolras was slightly embarrassed now. There was the barest hint of pink on his cheekbones, and his lips were pressed so tightly together than they’d become nothing more than a thin line.

“I didn’t think -” he started quietly but then stopped, abruptly turning away from Grantaire. “Four months is a long time, Grantaire.”

“Why didn’t you come to see me, like the others?” Grantaire blurted out, feeling somewhat braver now that Enjolras wasn’t looking at him anymore. There was a moment of silence, then Enjolras sighed, like when Grantaire was being tiresome, and it felt deeply unfair - if someone was being contrary and impossibly confusing right now, it certainly wasn’t _him._

“We were both busy,” Enjolras said, his voice almost cold now. “My point is that it’s been four months. I’ve gotten used to work alone and _in peace._ I’m sorry if you’re not finding me _agreeable_ because i’m invested in what I’m doing - something that’s foreign to you I’m sure.”

Enjolras had a way with words; it was what made him a great public speaker. He was also very talented when it came to saying exactly the right thing to hurt - he didn’t do it often, Enjolras wasn’t a malicious person at all, but Grantaire knew because he’d been on the receiving end of several cutting remarks from him before. Some of them he’d even practically begged for at his worst moments, finding some sort of masochistic validation of his own uselessness every time Enjolras made it clear he disliked Grantaire for a lot of different reasons. However, it hadn’t happened for practically - two years now. Nowadays, Enjolras and him still argued, of course, but there was some implicit rule there that it was more for arguing’ sake than because of a real dispute; they knew each other well enough to avoid delicate subjects.

They were _friends,_ and Enjolras was out of line.

“Fuck you,” he said angrily. “By all means, go back to your rock - I’m sure you don’t mind if I take the day off, since you’re used of working alone now. I’m very sorry for being worried about you.”

“Grantaire -” Enjolras called out just as Grantaire was going through the door.

Grantaire didn’t answer, and didn’t look back. He considered slamming the door to make sure the message had passed, but seeing that it was a huge and heavy wooden thing, he decided that he would probably just look ridiculous, and ran down the stairs instead, trying to hold on to his anger so that he could keep ignoring all his other feelings.

 

*

 

After a few morose hours walking through the streets, Grantaire ended up at the hospital, hoping he’d be able to catch Joly on his lunch break so that he could distract him with happy stories about babies and children. He’d tried to call Bossuet earlier only to remember when his friend hadn’t answered that he was currently trying a new job at the airport and that he probably couldn’t hear his phone right right now, and so hospital it’d been.

It wasn’t Joly that he ended up finding as he wandered in the white corridors of the building, however, but Combeferre, who immediately went to him when Grantaire called his name.

“Is everything okay?” he asked immediately, looking Grantaire up and down with a professional air. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see if Joly was up for lunch,” Grantaire answered.

Combeferre frowned but tactfully said nothing about Grantaire avoiding his first question.

“That’s going to be complicated,” he told Grantaire instead. “I’ve heard several kids were brought a moment ago, something about a bus accident - nobody was gravely hurt, but it’s probably going to keep Joly busy for the rest of the day.”

“Oh great,” Grantaire sighed before raising an eyebrow at Combeferre: “Are _you_ up for lunch? Fair warning, I’m pretty pissed at your best friend.”

Combeferre only nodded, not looking that surprised, which Grantaire couldn’t blame him for. It was a well-known fact that Enjolras and Grantaire ate together pretty much always, and if he was here for non-medical reasons, well, there weren’t a hundred possible explanations for his presence at this hour.

“Alright,” he said after a quick glance at his watch. “It’s rather calm right now for me, I can probably leave for a little while. Do you have a place in mind?”

“ _Le Bistrot de Province_ is barely ten minutes away from here,” Grantaire suggested.

“They make excellent fries,” Combeferre said approvingly. “Wait for me in the entry hall? I only need five minutes to warn my colleagues and change.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, they were walking together to the restaurant, chatting about Courfeyrac and Jehan’s latest play. Grantaire had still not decided if he wanted to talk about Enjolras or not, and if Combeferre had clearly started discussing the play as a kind gesture for Grantaire, it hadn’t taken him long to get invested in his explanations about the role of magic on stage. It was something Grantaire admired a lot in Combeferre - he was always interested in everything.

The conversation only died down after the waiter had given them their menus. Grantaire stared at the plastified paper, his thumb slowly caressing the list of wines available.

“I’d forgotten they also have excellent wines,” he said out loud, without looking at Combeferre. It wasn’t exactly a lie - he hadn’t realized until now, but he wondered if he hadn’t unconsciously came here exactly for that reason. Alcohol was so very tempting right now.

“I’m still on the clock, I can’t drink,” said Combeferre calmly.

Grantaire raised his head to roll his eyes at him, but Combeferre only smiled serenely. The waiter came back, and they take their command - Grantaire only asked for water, glancing morosely at the bottle of wine a couple was sharing a few tables away. Knowing that it was the reasonable good choice didn’t make it any easier.

“So, would you like to talk about it?” Combeferre asked after their plates arrived.

“Do you really want to hear me say that he’s a fucking prideful jerk?” Grantaire replied very amiably.

Combeferre only sighed. He looked sad, and there was a worried crease between his brows. It made Grantaire uneasy all over again. He waited a bit before clearing his throat.

“There’s something going on with him, isn’t it?”

“We know what happen to alchemists who practice too much,” Combeferre said quietly. “Those past few months, he’s been exhibiting more and more symptoms - he’s impatient, irritable and more tired. He forgets about himself, about _everything_ that isn’t his experiments. I think we’ve realized too late,” he added, sounding angry at himself. “We only started to worry when he didn’t show up at several of our meetings. We probably got too used to you being right behind him.” he finished with the shadow of a bitter smile.

Grantaire felt sick. He let go of his fork. Impossible, he thought, _impossible_.

“You didn’t tell me a thing,” he said blankly. “Nobody told me _a thing._ ”

“We’ve only put things together not so long ago,” Combeferre said. “It’s not an excuse, but a fact, one I’m really not proud of. And every time we visited, you seemed so - happy, and peaceful, we knew that if we told you about Enjolras, you’d come back here immediately….”

“Of course I would!” Grantaire said a bit too loud. Lower, he hissed: “I would, like I did for Courfeyrac, like I would have for any of you! I can’t - It’s _Enjolras,_ he’s never -”

“He’s always been far less careful than he should have been,” Combeferre pointed out. “He _knows_ what Alchemy does to a person - he knows there’s a limit not to cross, and he’s been playing with it for years. It’s not -” he sighed again. “It’s not that surprising. We should all have been expecting it.”

Grantaire shook his head. “It’s Enjolras,” he repeated, weaker.

“The fact that he’d been far more resistant to the pull over the years doesn’t make him invincible,” Combeferre said before looking up from his plate, his dark eyes a bit too shiny. “He’s not completely gone, though. You may not realize it, but he’s actually been better since you came back.”

“What?” Grantaire asked, taken aback, recalling Enjolras’ attitude this morning.

“The night you came back,” Combeferre said carefully, “It had taken me almost two hours to convince him to come with us. At one point I thought he might - he was very aggressive. He’d also started to check whatever food or drink he was given, like he thought it might be poisoned. I don’t suppose he does that with you,” he remarked a bit more lightly and when Grantaire shook his head no, he smiled briefly. “He’s been more open and relaxed this week than he’s been this entire month. Hopefully, he will keep improving. You’re good for him. You’ve always been, of course, but trust me, it’s clearly visible now.”

Grantaire didn’t answer, because he had no idea what to say. Perhaps this was just a bit too much - seeing a change in Enjolras’ behaviour had already been destabilising, but having Combeferre confirming that it was what Grantaire had feared, that it was Enjolras losing himself to the pull of Alchemy, the pull his own father had failed to resist because of his arrogance, it was terrifying. Enjolras had never been arrogant - he’d never thought he was _above_ anyone, and he had always been careful about his own limits, even when he was bold. Grantaire had been at his side for five years, had watched him try and succeed doing the most incredible things without weakening, without getting obsessed -

No, nobody could have expected it, no matter what Combeferre said. Enjolras had always been a magnificent alchemist. Careful, impervious, clear-minded. Grantaire had been the first to meet him, of all of them, and apart from a tendency not to pay enough attention to his injuries after some spectacular experiments, Enjolras had already been perfectly aware of his own boundaries five years ago - the only thing Grantaire had helped with was making him eat better food and dosing his experiments so he could be less tired, less often hurt…

“What if it’s not enough?” he finally asked.

“Then we’ll find a solution,” Combeferre said, firm and certain. “We’ve all been doing research, we’ve reached out to all our contacts in the supernatural world - and we’ve made a lot of them over the years, Bahorel’s contact list is longer than your average novel.”

Grantaire looked away. He’d never found believing in the more positive outcome easy like his friends - that was one of the things he liked the most about them, their certainty that hope was always preferable to cynicism, that it will always be rewarding one way or another. He trusted them, though. He trusted _Enjolras._ If anyone could come back, surely -

Thinking about the other alternative was unbearable. Grantaire curled his hands on his lap.

“I should probably go back,” he said.

Neither him nor Combeferre had finished their plates, but Combeferre nodded as he glanced at his watch once again.

“I should probably head back too.” he admitted. “I’ll take care of the bill.”

He was gone before Grantaire had time to protest. Privately deciding that it meant he would pay their next meal together, he left the restaurant and waited for Combeferre to join him outside, enjoying the warmth of July and idly watching the people around. A little bit further away, under the trees, a man was waving his hands around, loudly telling a story about lions. His legs looked blurry, and a myriad of children were yelling and laughing around him as their parents kept them at a safe distance, which made Grantaire assume that the man was illustrating his story with illusions that he was a bit too far to see himself.

“Hey,” said Combeferre behind him, putting a hand on his back. “The hospital isn’t really your way if you’re going back to Enjolras’ - are you going to be okay?”

Grantaire blinked and looked at him.

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “There’s not really another choice right now, anyway.”

Combeferre was looking sad again and Grantaire felt bad; he half-raised his arms as a peace offering, and Combeferre hugged him tightly.

“It’ll be okay,” he whispered, and Grantaire pretended it didn’t sound like Combeferre was trying to convince himself and simply whispered “yeah”.

They left each other a minute later with one last promise to organize something with everybody soon enough, and Grantaire slowly started to make his way back to Enjolras’.

All the anger of before had completely left him. He felt - uncertain. Lost. Despite everything he’d just talked about with Combeferre, despite the evidence and despite all logic, he still couldn’t completely grasp what was happening. They’d talked about it once, Enjolras and him. They’d only met a few months before at this point, and the conversation had probably started with Grantaire trying to get his attention by any means he could, but all he could remember now was being outside, looking at the stars, Enjolras close to him and saying in a quiet voice that the mere idea of losing himself to alchemy, becoming a shadow of himself, obsessed with power and immortality, disgusted him. He hadn’t _looked_ disgusted, though, but rather… apprehensive, and Grantaire, who at this point hadn’t been ready yet to let go of the image of a perfect, fearless Enjolras he had constructed in his mind, had retorted something light, something idiotic like: _“I don’t know, power would suit you.”_

Enjolras had rolled his eyes and Grantaire had nudged his shoulder, and when he’d noticed Enjolras still looking pensive, a small crease between his brows, Grantaire had started to ramble about the stars and their stories until Enjolras had relaxed next to him. It hadn’t mattered that they were both aware that Enjolras already knew those things, or that Grantaire was tipsy as fuck _._ It’d been one of those rare moments where they’d managed to be peaceful together, and it’d been nice.

There had been more and more moments like this over the years. Grantaire had no idea what he would do if he lost that, if he lost _Enjolras_. Without him, who was he? Enjolras had always been there as Grantaire slowly built himself back up over the years. Hell, without Enjolras, he probably wouldn’t have even tried to fix the mess that was his own life in the first place.

Those thoughts lead him up to Enjolras’ doorstep. He entered into the house, his heart racing, and went to the curtains hiding the stairs that he climbed without haste. He had no idea what he could expect upstairs. Would Enjolras still be angry? cold? Or would he have forgotten the whole thing already, back to his failed experiment?

The door was open. Grantaire glanced inside before stepping in. Enjolras was reading in the armchair that Grantaire had claimed as his years ago, but he immediately looked up when he heard Grantaire. There was an empty plate on the small table next to him.

“You came back,” he said, sounding both careful and relieved.

“You ate,” Grantaire replied as carefully, nodding at the plate. “How did you do that? Do you even know where the fridge is in this house?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but Grantaire didn’t missed the small pleased smile tugging at his lips.

“Yes, I know, seeing as this is _my_ house,” he said. “I even managed to make myself a sandwich.”

“A miracle,” Grantaire retorted weakly.

They stared at each other awkwardly for a few seconds, and then -

“Listen -” Grantaire started

“You were right,” Enjolras said at the same time.

Grantaire blinked, completely taken aback: “Uh,” he said clearing his throat. “Alright, you first.”

“You were right,” Enjolras immediately repeated, closing his book and getting off the armchair. “And I’m sorry. I’ve been - different, lately. Nothing in particular happened, though, it’s the truth. It’s only that…. You left, and I only realized lately that it’s…. more difficult, without you. To stop working, to remember to leave this room. We had our habits, you and I, and I didn’t think - I didn’t think it would be so hard to keep going without them.”

He was still staring intently at Grantaire, his eyes full of emotions even if his face seemed frozen - he was embarrassed to admit it, Grantaire realized, almost startled; Enjolras was so rarely embarrassed by anything.

“Well,” Grantaire said, licking his lips. “I’m back, now.”

“Yes,” said Enjolras. “You are.” There was a beat of silence, and then he kept going. “You were also right about the work - I need fresh air more than alchemy right now. How do you feel about taking a walk?”

“I’m all for it,” Grantaire replied, truly relaxing now. “It’s Thursday, so if we go to the Jardins du Luxembourg, the old Lucien should be there and we’ll get some ice cream.”

“That sounds good,” Enjolras smiled, immediately losing his own awkwardness. For a brief moment, Grantaire thought he might add something else, but then it passed, and Enjolras gestured towards the door, inviting Grantaire to go first. They went down the stairs in a companionable silence.

 _Perhaps,_ Grantaire thought, more hopeful now, _Combeferre had been right. It_ would _get better._

 

*

 

A week passed, then two, and although there were still a myriad of little things that made Grantaire’s heart clench in his chest, the most important was that Enjolras was trying and succeeding more often that not in resisting the pull, no matter how frustrated he looked when he was coaxed out of the lab, or sometimes downright angry. He snapped at Grantaire far more often than usual, but he also apologized every time afterwards, sounding stricken, and generally suggested they meet up with friends or simply go out on their own without Grantaire pushing for it. He started going back to his old sleeping schedule, and made a point of eating and drinking regularly. It looked like it exhausted him - Grantaire felt too often like he was a sick man’s caregiver rather than an alchemist’s assistant - but everybody clinged to the fact that it _was_ better nonetheless, better than it’d been when Grantaire was away.

It wasn’t only Enjolras though - all of their friends, their hope rekindled, did everything in their power to keep Enjolras grounded. Joly had taken to come by at lunch hours when he could and drag Enjolras and Grantaire outside to enjoy the sun and its benefits. When he couldn’t make it, it was Bossuet who joined them. Combeferre and Courfeyrac generally arrived in the evenings, just as Grantaire left, newspapers in their hands. Jehan’s flat was filled with even more old spell books than usual and Feuilly and them spent hours going through them, regularly giving them updates of anything that might help. As for Bahorel, she was gone more often than not, visiting her numerous acquaintances all over France.

Grantaire couldn’t decide if they were right or all deluding themselves because nobody knew what they would do if Enjolras truly lost himself. Courfeyrac was the one who had brought all of them together, but they didn’t call Enjolras their leader only to tease - Enjolras had a natural charm that made it easy to follow him; next to him, everybody’s faith and passion for change had only blossomed, and despite the fact that Les Amis de l’ABC had been an Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s idea just as much as Enjolras’, everybody generally looked at Enjolras first when it came to making decisions.

Now Enjolras got _distracted,_ and everybody was unsettled, which showed the most during their official meetings. Usually, Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac worked in a perfect unity that was truly beautiful to watch. They led the conversation seamlessly, bringing up the points in order and redirecting debates when they were moving too far away from the original discussion, they listened and suggested and calmed down people and generally complimented each other perfectly.

It was only the second meeting that Grantaire participated in since he came back, and he wondered if all the other people who came that weren’t part of their inner circle could sense that something was wrong. The past two hours had been terrible - Enjolras had only reacted once, rather strongly, when Garence had started to rant about the inherent elitism of the alchemic arts, which wouldn’t have been that surprising if he’d _agreed_ with her, which he hadn’t.

Enjolras, who had always criticized the way Alchemists were made to believe their science was the most important and essential thing in society, the way they were trained to secrecy, and chosen because they had the _talent_ (A talent, Enjolras had exclaimed once in a fit of passion, they only looked for in certain people - generally well-off and male. Nobody had realized that Feuilly had it until she was an adult, and all that she’d learnt, she’d done it by herself, because it had occurred to no one that _she_ could have it in the first place)completely leaving out people who, despite not being naturally inclined for it, were as interested and eager to learn the alchemic arts. Enjolras, who’d often said he strongly disliked the fact that alchemy was treated like an enormous secret restricted to a tight, small circle of people, had told Garence coldly that she had no idea what she was talking about, and would have probably gone further if Combeferre hadn’t whispered something in his ear, firmly holding his wrist.

Enjolras hadn’t spoken a word afterwards. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had made a great show at pretending that everything was alright, but their worry was obvious to Grantaire, and to the rest of their friends. When Courfeyrac finally called the end of the meeting, Grantaire heard Joly whispering _“thank god”_ next to him. Now that it was only the nine of them, there was no pretense at cheerfulness. Enjolras seemed oblivious. His head was bent over a notebook and he was writing hastily, as if his life depended on it. Courfeyrac looked sick. He kept folding and unfolding his fingers, and one of his leg was moving restlessly. Enjolras sometimes glanced at him like he was going to say something then pursed his lips and went back to his writing.

Combeferre, in the middle of them, looked impossibly tired. He ended up putting an arm around Courferac’s shoulders, and Courfeyrac immediately leaned into him, closing his eyes. The silence was the most terrible thing Grantaire had heard in a long while. The noise of Enjolras’ pen on the paper was only sound, and it was making him uncomfortable - not only him, if he trusted everybody’s bleak face.

“Oh for god’s sake,” Bahorel ended up exclaiming a bit too loudly, “Nobody’s dead,” she said fiercely, daring anyone to tell her otherwise. “Who wants to play cards?”

“I’m in,” Bossuet immediately answered, sounding almost relieved. He pulled on Joly’s sleeve hopefully, and Joly nodded: “Yeah, me too.”

“Count me in,” Courfeyrac said slowly, “and Combeferre too.”

“I don’t think -” Combeferre started with a frown.

“Just a game,” Courfeyrac interrupted him. “Bahorel’s right. Nobody’s dead. It will do us good, and we’ll trick them into talking about serious matters afterwards, I know you really want to discuss that school reform.”

Combeferre relented, and the backroom seemed to come back to life as the five of them settled at a table and got the cards out. Grantaire wanted to join Enjolras - he had no idea what he would tell him, but he hated the way Enjolras looked like he was barely breathing, his lips moving silently as he wrote - except Jehan joined him and Feuilly followed. It was clear both of them had only come to make sure Grantaire didn’t get up, and it made him frown.

“Are we really going to leave him like that? _Look at him,_ ” he whispered.

“The last time he did this, we tried to confront him, and he just - left, without a word,” Jehan whispered back softly. “At least if he stays here we can keep on eye on him.”

“The last time?” Grantaire repeated. “When -”

“You weren’t back yet,” Feuilly said.

Grantaire stilled, stricken. “You said he was getting better,” he said, having trouble keeping his voice low. “You said things were easier since I came back -”

“It looked like it before today,” Jehan said quietly.

On their left, Joly loudly accused Bahorel of blatantly cheating and Courfeyrac snorted. Grantaire could only stare at Enjolras, but Jehan took his hand, squeezing it lightly, and Feuilly gently shook her head, before asking him and Jehan if they would agree to try something for her; Feuilly regularly tried to mix a bit of magic with her alchemy - Enjolras used to do it too; he’d say that it was ridiculous that alchemy and magic were kept separated from each other, treated as opposites when they had so much in common. Jehan said yes. Grantaire relented, turned away from Enjolras, and agreed to follow Feuilly’s lead.

Miraculously, he ended up actually getting invested. Feuilly liked to work with metals the most. She had brought three large strips of copper with her that she planned to transform into bracelets protecting their owner’s health. She had already carved the runes into the copper, but instead of working on the metal’s alchemic transformation now to activate them, she wanted to see if she could keep the copper and still make the runes work with the help of magic. It was intriguing - witches very rarely worked with runes at all. Jehan and Grantaire started taking turns, trying different charms, mostly of protection, to fit the runes. They only had a proper reaction once - Jehan casted a long, complicated protection spell, and sparkles ran all over the runes on one of the strips, leaving behind a red glowing light before even that disappeared.

“Uh,” Feuilly said, looking intently at the copper strip. “I’m not sure this worked. The runes usually keep glowing once they’re activated.”

“We could try again together,” Jehan suggested to Grantaire.

“Sure,” Grantaire said, “But you’ll need to write me this spell down first. Where the hell did you even find it, Prouvaire?”

“In my childhood’s home, last summer,” Jehan replied while quickly writing down the spell.

Grantaire read the spell several times - some of the words were definitely neither French nor Latin, and he asked Jehan to repeat them out loud for him so that he didn’t make any mistake. There wasn’t a lot of risk for something going dramatically wrong with a protection spell, but it was still more cautious to pronounce it properly to avoid any bad surprises. When they decided he was ready, Jehan and him started, staring at the runes and slowly reciting the spell at the same time. The runes started to glow redder and redder until suddenly there was an abrupt small explosion.

“What the fuck -” Grantaire heard Bahorel curse.

The smoke dissipated. The copper band was still intact, except it was now covered by a thin, hard red substance that Feuilly quickly discovered was very hot. Grantaire couldn’t help but smirk.

“Well, it kind of worked,” he pointed out.

Feuilly and Jehan only snorted in answer. The explosion had definitely made the game of cards stop, ( _“thankfully,”_ Bossuet admitted with a pointed look to Bahorel, who only grinned), and they all gathered around curiously around the strips. To have all of them near him made Grantaire glance at Enjolras again, dreading that the he might have disappeared. But Enjolras was still there, and he had stopped writing. He was very stiff in his chair, watching them all with a strange expression. Grantaire must have made some kind of involuntary gesture, because Feuilly startled next to him and then turned her head too.

“Oh,” she said quietly, _hopefully,_ and then, louder: “Do you want to join us, Enjolras? I could use your point of view.”

“This is magic,” Enjolras said flatly.

Perhaps it was because it wasn’t a proper no - perhaps it was because Feuilly was naturally optimistic, or simply because she knew, more than anyone, that Enjolras should have been right there next to her since the beginning, trying to come up with solutions - but Enjolras’ tone didn’t seem to deter her. She rose from her seat with a smile.

“I won’t mind a different alchemic approach either if you’ve got one,” she said. “And if our minds get too wrapped up into this, we could distract ourselves with one of your projects. It’s been awhile since you’ve talked about -”

“My projects are neither a distraction nor your concern,” Enjolras cut her sharply, his lips curling down distastefully. “Do you know what’s distracting? Hearing you pretending to be doing Alchemy when you’re not. This is disgraceful.”

Feuilly physically recoiled as Enjolras stood up too. “Excuse me?” she said.

“You’re treating this like a game. It’s not,” Enjolras said icily, grabbing his notebook and his jacket. “You’ve got no discipline, no elegance, no proper vision, and the only thing you achieved is distracting _me_ from doing valuable work. That’s my point of view, Feuilly. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving for a place a little more quiet.”

Nobody stopped him - Grantaire could barely remember how to breathe, and he was pretty sure the others were in the same position as him. All their faces reflected how shocked and sick they felt, but none more than Courfeyrac’s and Feuilly’s. Jehan wrapped their arms around Courfeyrac without a word, and Grantaire realized a beat too late as Courfeyrac hugged them back that he had claws instead of nails. As for Feuilly, Bahorel was there first, gently touching her arm. Feuilly looked like she was going to crumble, and Bahorel wasn’t much better, apart that her cheeks were getting progressively redder - anger, Grantaire thought. She was angry. They all knew this hadn’t been Enjolras speaking - they _knew,_ but Feuilly’s eyes were filled with tears, and Bahorel was angry, and Grantaire understood all too well.

“I need to go,” he said. “I need to - I’ll go find him, he’s not - I’ll bring him back.”

He went to stand up, but Bossuet put his hand on his shoulder, silently stopping him. Grantaire shook his head and tried to shake the hand off as well, but Bossuet refused to move, and the pressure increased.

“No,” his best friend said quietly. “R, he won’t be reasoned with. Not tonight. You’ve just heard -”

“It wasn’t him,” Grantaire said without heat. “It wasn’t -” he waved at Feuilly. “Enjolras would _never_ … Not _Feuilly._ ”

“It doesn’t matter right now,” Bahorel said briskly. “Bossuet’s right. All you’re going to accomplish if you go right now is being shred to pieces.”

Grantaire wanted to protest some more, but there wasn’t any energy left to fight with his friends. He locked eyes with Combeferre - the shock had disappeared off his face; now it was blank, almost scarily empty. Joly was holding his hands tightly, looking like he’d aged ten years in minutes. Grantaire slowly breathed out.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Then we should all just… go home. I’m really ready for this day to end”

“I don’t want to be alone,” Courfeyrac said against Jehan’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to be,” Jehan answered immediately. “You can come sleep at my place if you want. All of you,” they added, glancing up. “You know there’s enough room.”

“Might take you up on it,” Bahorel sighed.

They slowly started to move up even as they discussed sleeping arrangements. They were all a bit clingy, Courfeyrac most of all, who kept looking tiredly at his claws and carefully keeping his hands out of the way even as he leant against everybody who welcomed him. Once they were outside, it became even clearer that they didn’t really want to leave each other. It took them several more minutes staring at each other in silence before Joly and Bossuet, heavily leaning on each other and holding hands decided to say goodbye. The others were all going back to Jehan’s - Grantaire had refused, but he still walked a part of the journey with them until he needed to change streets. Before he crossed the road, Combeferre caught him by the wrist.

“R,” he whispered, his voice alert. “Just - be careful. Please.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire whispered back, and tried to smile, even if it wasn’t really successful.

It was enough for Combeferre to let him go, even though he was obviously still worried. Grantaire waved at all of them and left, making sure that he was out of their sight before changing directions. The walk to Enjolras’ seemed to take minutes only. He had no plan, no real arguments to make, nothing - apart from one thought, _he needed to see him._ His hands were shaking when he opened the door to the house, his breath coming short. He climbed the stairs leading to the lab two by two, and only stopped once he was on the doorstep, taking everything in.

The only lights inside were the flames in the fireplace and the electric lamp near Enjolras’ desk. It was generally cool in the atelier, but it was July, and the natural heat added to the one of the fire made the room almost unbearably hot now. Enjolras was wearing his red protection overall anyway, the one that buttoned up to his chin, and dark gloves. His hair was a sweaty mess, and his cheeks were pink, but he didn’t seem to notice at all. There were rocks and flasks and open books strewn all around him; white smoke was rising from a larger bowl. Runes were glowing on the wall.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said hopelessly.

“Go away,” Enjolras immediately answered sharply.

He didn’t turn to look at Grantaire, didn’t even glance his way, only muttering a few words while pouring something new into the bowl, which produced an odd, hissing sound. Grantaire took off his jacket, the warmth getting to him, and then took a few steps inside.

“Enjolras,” he repeated.

“I don’t have time for you,” Enjolras snapped. “I’m working, and it’s not like you can help with this - now leave. I’ll see if I require your services tomorrow.”

“No,” Grantaire said.

“Fine, then don’t come back at all, for all I care -”

“I’m not leaving you,” Grantaire cut him off. “I’m not leaving this room without you. You’ve seemed to have forgotten that it’s what I do best, sticking by your side even when you don’t want me too.”

“You _have_ to leave,” Enjolras snarled, finally turning towards him. He looked wild and tense, like an animal ready to pounce at the smallest sign of danger. “Of all the times to be stubborn, Grantaire -”

“What?” Grantaire challenged him, moving a bit closer. “Why should I leave? What are you going to do? Say mean things to me? You know I can handle them - of all of our friends, _I_ can handle them the most easily. Or are you just going to stand there and look superior at me? Tell me about all the power you will get if you work long enough?”

“Stop it,” Enjolras spat, his hands shaking. “ _Stop.”_

“If power is what you want,” Grantaire whispered when he finally stopped, mere inches separating him from Enjolras now. “I’ll let you have all of mine. If you need power, then take it from me, take everything, you know you already _have it_ -”

“Shut up,” Enjolras yelled, taking him by the shoulders and pushing him against the wall. “God, just _shut up,_ R, shut up, shut up -” he kept repeating it, “ _shut up_ ” over and over, his breath erratic, his voice losing his fierceness little by little.

Grantaire curled one of his hands around the overall and waited, his heart beating so fast in his chest it felt like it was going to burst out of it at any moment. But when Enjolras finally bent his head towards him, it was only to put their foreheads against each other for a brief moment before moving away just enough to look at him - _properly_ look at him.

“You have no idea what you’re saying,” he murmured.

“Of course I do,” Grantaire said softly. “Enjolras -”

Enjolras shook his head, and let go of his grip on Grantaire, trying to put some proper distance between them again. But Grantaire’s hand was still clutching his overall, and Grantaire followed the movement, raising his other hand very slowly until his fingers were resting against Enjolras’ cheek.

“Enjolras, please,” he said, pleading now: “don’t push me away.”

“Grantaire -”

“ _Please,”_ Grantaire repeated, and Enjolras closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, leaning ever so slightly into Grantaire’s touch.

“I won’t,” he said. “I won’t.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire sighed, relief flooding all over him. “We’ll do this together,” he said. “I’m not leaving you. We’ll go for lunch tomorrow at Jehan’s, and we’ll deal with everything together.”

“Together,” Enjolras echoed. He gently took Grantaire’s hand into his own and lowered it down without let it go of it. He still had a very intense look on his face, and Grantaire was suddenly very aware of the way their bodies were pressed against each other; he also had no idea if he imagined the way Enjolras’ eyes flickered down to his lips. He decided that it must have been some trick born of the poor light and the high emotion in the room when Enjolras started to talk again, softer, sounding more like himself finally: “You should go to sleep. We both should. You can sleep here - it’s late.”

“Will you really, though? Sleep, I mean.” Grantaire asked dubiously.

“I can promise to try,” Enjolras said honestly.

“Alright, then,” Grantaire nodded. “Alright. Let’s sleep.”

 

*

 

In retrospect, it was amazing that Grantaire had managed to fall asleep so fast once Enjolras had left him alone in the guest room. He had barely put his head on the pillow that he was sleeping, exhaustion washing over him in a second. It still felt like he had just closed his eyes when gentle hands shook him awake.

“What?” he muttered groggily, his eyelids too heavy to completely lift them.

Fingers caressed his jaw, and a few drops of a hot liquid fell on his tongue. He instinctively swallowed and immediately regretted it as his throat started to burn. He choked, his body jerking up violently, and he grasped the arms of the person sitting on the bed next to him, breathing heavily. The sensation disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him completely alert and awake, all traces of fatigue erased from his mind.

“What the hell?” he said, blinking several times when the light of his nightstand lamp suddenly illuminated the room.

“I need you,” Enjolras said, because of course it was Enjolras, who else could it have been?

Grantaire shook his head: “Well, this is not how I imagined it would happen,” he blurted out, and when Enjolras only raised his eyebrows, the shadow of a smile on his lips, he cleared his throat. “Let’s - pretend I didn’t just say that. What the hell is this, what’s wrong?”

“We need to leave,” Enjolras answered, his face fading back to seriousness again. “There’s a taxi waiting for us outside, just get dressed and we’ll go.”

“What?” Grantaire repeated, startled. He glanced at the window outside. He hadn’t bothered closing off the curtains earlier, and it was still definitely very dark. “What time _is it?_ Enjolras, you said you were going to sleep,” he added with a frown.

“I said I’d try, and I couldn’t,” Enjolras answered sharply, and then sighed. “Please, R, just get dressed, I’ll explain everything afterwards, alright? I want to arrive early.”

“Arrive _where?_ ” Grntaire asked, but he was already getting out of bed, and Enjolras rose up in silence, throwing him clothes that Grantaire caught without thinking.

It wasn’t like this had never happened before. There had been days when Enjolras had sudden bursts of inspiration, or had finally found the solution to a particular formula, and he’d refused to wait a second more before trying out some new theory. Grantaire remembered very fondly the road-trip they’d done, two years ago, when Enjolras had decided that nothing else than actual water from the mediterranean sea would work for his latest filter. The weather had been miserable, it was November, but Enjolras had been excited, happy, and as always, his emotions had tainted Grantaire’s own - when it turned out that Enjolras had been right about the water, Grantaire had laughed, giddy like a child, and told him that they should make sure to go back every year so that Enjolras never ran out of it. Enjolras had smiled at him warmly and said: “Perhaps.”

Last year, Enjolras had casually suggested the mediterranean sea when Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet had been talking wistfully about leaving on vacation. They’d ended up all going together for four days, simply because Enjolras very rarely talked about vacations and it had made everybody enthusiastic enough to organize the trip. It’d been different, but Grantaire had _known_ that Enjolras had remembered his stupid remark from the year before, and it’d meant everything at the time.

God, Grantaire thought as he now followed Enjolras outside the house, _he missed him._ He missed this Enjolras so strongly that it made him physically ache. They got in the taxi still silent, Enjolras simply nodding at the driver before leaning back on his seat and staring pensively at the window. Grantaire looked at him from the corner of his eyes. He’d clearly planned everything before waking him up - the driver didn’t ask for an address, just started the engines and left the street. There was nothing of Enjolras’ usual passion on his face; he seemed to be already far away, and Grantaire felt a lump in his throat. This wasn’t like usual, but then again, nothing had been _usual_ lately.

“So, why was it necessary to leave in the middle of the night again?” he asked.

“I told you,” said Enjolras without looking at him. “It’s best if we’re there by dawn.”

It wasn’t exactly what Enjolras had told him, actually, but Grantaire wouldn’t say it out loud.

“For an experiment?” he tried instead.

“At this point, it might as well be called a ritual,” Enjolras answered.

“Magic?” Grantaire startled. “Is that why I’m here?”

“It’s one of the reasons,” Enjolras said and then glanced at him finally, a bit stiff. “You said together, didn’t you? And you’re still my assistant,” he added almost as an afterthought.

“I am,” said Grantaire. “And I did.” he waited for a few seconds, and when Enjolras stayed silent, he cleared his throat: “I also happen to be curious. You are aware that I’m going to need to know what you plan to do, right?”

Enjolras looked back to the window without an answer. Grantaire wanted to push, but he felt like he was walking on a very thin line right now, and all of the bravery that he had felt a few hours ago when he’d confronted Enjolras had apparently evaporated. He was left uncertain of how much he would be able to do or ask until Enjolras got angry and abandoned him on the side of the road like an unwanted puppy. Eventually he sighed and leant back into his seat, trying to find a comfortable position; clearly they were going to be in the car for a few hours at least. He would have tried to resume sleeping, except he felt awake like he’d drank an entire pot of coffee. Which, now that he thought about it -

“Is whatever you made me drink earlier the same stuff you try to put in your coffee all the time?” he asked.

Enjolras seemed taken aback for an instant, but then his eyes lit up with understanding and to Grantaire’s great pleasure, his lips curled up ever so slightly, his face softening.

“It might,” he answered, clearly amused. “I created it while you were away, and I find it quite effective.” There was a faint trace of smugness in his voice, but Grantaire decided to focus on the quiet satisfaction that prevailed instead.

“‘Can’t say I disagree with that,” he said. “Quite the way to wake up, though.”

“The first few seconds are a bit unpleasant,” Enjolras admitted. “I’m still working on that.”

“I’m sure you are,” Grantaire retorted, and he’d meant it fondly, he _had,_ but of course it was the wrong thing to say - reminding them both of what was happening. Enjolras lost his smile, his jaw tensing, and the awkward silence was back. Grantaire wondered what Enjolras would do if he bashed his head against the front seat to cure himself of his idiocy.

For the next half an hour, they didn’t exchange a word. Grantaire wished the driver would at least put the radio on, but when he leaned in to ask him, he realized that there was no radio at all in the car, which was utterly ridiculous - what sort of taxi didn’t have a radio? He turned to Enjolras, hoping to make the remark discreetly and get another smile - or maybe an eye-roll, or even a lecture - _anything,_ but Enjolras was apparently deep in thoughts, his fingers tracing invisible symbols on his leg, his lips moving silently. Grantaire kept his mouth closed and watched him instead for a while - if there was something that he would never tire of, it was probably staring at Enjolras.

They probably could have spent the rest of the journey like this were it not for the fact that Grantaire couldn’t handle spending so much time without speaking. He gave in after another fifteen minutes.

“We can’t just not talk after you made sure we were both going to be very much awake for the next hours!” he blurted out exasperatedly, secretly satisfied at seeing Enjolras startle and look back at him.

“We can talk,” he said a beat too late. “Me being quiet doesn’t usually stop you from ranting about whatever pleases you, I just assumed you - didn’t want to today.”

“...Right,” Grantaire muttered, destabilized - Enjolras _was_ right, after all. Most often than not, Grantaire did all the speaking and Enjolras listened - or not, depending on whether Grantaire was trying to be annoying or genuinely talking about something he cared about. He couldn’t blame everything on Enjolras, he thought guiltily - Enjolras hadn’t made this awkward; Grantaire had managed that all on his own. Still, even with Enjolras’ explicit confirmation that it was okay, Grantaire couldn’t for the life of him come up with a subject of conversation neutral enough - his mind was blank, and that was quite a first.

It was Enjolras who ended up suggesting quietly: “You could tell me about the months you’ve spent at Fantine’s. You haven’t said much about it, and we’ve got time.”

Grantaire carefully didn’t mention he hadn’t talked about it before because of the way Enjolras had spat _“you left”_ during the argument they’d had after he came back. He’d feared that reminding Enjolras of the months he’d been away might make him angry at him all over again, which, now that he thought about it, was perhaps just Grantaire letting his insecurities get the better of him. Instead, he smiled at Enjolras and began with “well, really, not the easiest subject, there’s really not much to tell -” and then proceeded to talk at length about Fantine and her way of teaching, her firm encouragements and her soft approval when Grantaire managed to master something new.

He talked about the farm, even though Enjolras knew it, and Toussaint’s meals who were still to this day the best food Grantaire had eaten in his life. He talked about Fauchelevent and helping in the garden, about Valjean and actually _learning_ the names of the plants in the garden, about Simplice and how he was still slightly scared of her and her piercing looks that left no room for bullshiting (“which, you know, is the thing I’m best at,” Grantaire remarked, earning another quick amused smile from Enjolras), he talked about the girls and how odd it was to feel comfortable with another group of people than les amis, but also how delightful - he talked about the ceremonies, got in several historical tangents on why some ceremonies were still done a certain way, and why others had practically disappeared, and he only stopped when Enjolras abruptly caught his wrist in his hand.

Grantaire hadn’t even realized he was moving his arms around so much, but since his hand was very close to Enjolras, he assumed that he’d been on the verge of accidentally hitting him or something, and made an apologetic grimace that Enjolras didn’t seem to notice. He kept a hold of Grantaire’s wrist as he lowered it down, and then, instead of letting Grantaire go, he moved his fingers up and carefully intertwined them with Grantaire’s before raising his eyes to look at him. Grantaire stared uncomprehendingly, glanced down at their hands, then up to Enjolras, then down to their hands again. Enjolras squeezed it gently.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said like he wasn’t _holding Grantaire’s hand,_ “You were talking about Floréal’s first coven and how chinese ceremonies differed from french ones?”

“I -”

Grantaire’s voice failed him. Try as he might, he couldn’t be as casual as Enjolras about this. He didn’t know how he should take the gesture - he didn’t know if he wanted to ask. The last time he and Enjolras had held hands, they’d met barely ten days before. One of Enjolras’ experiments had gone wrong, and there was blood everywhere. Grantaire, half-convinced that it was all because of him, hadn’t even thought before kneeling at Enjolras’ side, and taking his hand, and _wishing_ mentally and out loud for the injury to heal. He hadn’t known a thing about handling his magic at this point, but it still had reacted instinctively to his panicked emotions, and he’d felt an abrupt surge of power leaving him and surrounding Enjolras.

Two minutes later, Enjolras had been healed, breathing heavily and looking at Grantaire with a new glint in his eyes, and Grantaire had felt such _complete devotion_ for this man he’d started to follow, half-intrigued, half-sceptical barely days before that he’d grown scared and let go of Enjolras before literally running away. He’d come back, eventually - of course he had, because at this time in his life, there was nowhere where he felt quite as alive as when he was near Enjolras. But since then, they’d never held hands.

A shadow crossed Enjolras’ face, and Grantaire felt his fingers loosen their grip on his. He panicked - he might not be ready to hear what Enjolras meant by this, might be slightly too afraid to hope _now,_ but he certainly didn’t want this to _stop._ He squeezed Enjolras’ hand, perhaps a bit too hard - he was shaking, and it was embarrassing, but Enjolras only smiled.

“The decorum,” he blurted out. “That’s the big difference, the decorum. Here we’re going to the simplest way possible - the less the better, you know. In chinese culture, ceremonies are celebrations - each one of them is big and colorful, and you’re required to be dressed like you were going to meet a, a king or an emperor or whatever.”

It was easier to keep speaking afterwards. He did stammer once or twice when Enjolras’ thumb randomly started to caress his skin, but the touch became familiar enough that Grantaire definitely relaxed, and he talked extensively about the different ways to perform the Ceremony of the Sun across the world until his throat was too dry for him to keep going. Outside, the horizon was tainted in pink and pale yellow.

“Are we there soon?” Grantaire asked.

“Less than twenty minutes I’d say,” Enjolras answered.

“Am I allowed to ask what you’re planning to do yet or -”

“I’m going to make things better,” Enjolras said firmly.

Grantaire blinked. “Better?” he repeated, half-confused, half-hopeful.

“You talked about having lunch at Jehan’s, yesterday,” Enjolras declared slowly, staring right in front of him with the hint of a frown. “I don’t think I could do that, R. Not after -” he pressed his lips together, and took a deep breath: “It’s better if I don’t see them until I can stay in the same room as them without feeling…. Without feeling like I don’t want to be there with them,” he ended quietly, his hand holding Grantaire’s a bit tighter.

Grantaire stilled. When Enjolras looked at him again, he was clearly upset, but there was also a very determined glint in his eyes.

“I’ve been doing research for weeks - since you came back - about this ritual. It will make things better,” he said with no trace of doubt in his voice. “Once it’s performed, _I_ will be better, and then we can both go back to Paris, and we’ll invite all of our friends to eat at the house.”

Grantaire could have pointed out that there was no records of any ritual that might help alchemists resist the pull of power. He could have said that even if Enjolras thought he had found something, it was purely theoretical at best. There were a lot of things he could have said, but Grantaire kept them for themselves, and only whispered: “Alright.”

Enjolras believed in this - it might very well be their last chance, and they both knew it, and so it was enough for Grantaire, who, after all, believed in Enjolras first and foremost.

 

*

 

The taxi finally stopped in the middle of nowhere a few minutes later. Once they were out, Grantaire took in their surroundings. Apart from the old road they were on, there was nothing in sight except fields and some trees here and there. How had Enjolras even found this place was a complete mystery. He turned to him to ask, and raised his eyebrows as he took in the two large bags Enjolras had gotten out of the trunk of the car. He moved to take one of them, but Enjolras shook his head, taking them both on his shoulders.

“They’re light,” he said and then, after a second, offered his hand back to Grantaire.

“Really?” Grantaire blurted out.

“If you want,” Enjolras answered carefully.

“I want -” Grantaire said faintly. “Of course I want, you know I -” he didn’t finish his sentence, his cheek flushing, but linked his fingers with Enjolras’ again.

“Once this is done,” started Enjolras haltingly and didn’t end his thought either, but Grantaire thought he understood anyway, and his heart was racing in his chest when he nodded.

It didn’t take long for the taxi to disappear. Once they were alone, Enjolras tugged slightly on his hand and lead him to a small path that Grantaire hadn’t seen earlier, half-hidden by the vegetation. It crossed one of the fields, seemingly in direction of the trees on the other side of it. It clearly wasn’t used often, and although Enjolras walked fast, looking straight ahead, Grantaire carefully kept his eyes on the ground. When they arrived near the trees, Enjolras stopped a moment to look around before stepping out of the path. He slowed down again between the trees, but he still seemed very sure of where they were going.

“I used to come here when I was younger,” he randomly said to Grantaire, breaking the peaceful silence. “I have a aunt who lives not far.”

“That explains that,” Grantaire answered, trying not to sound impossibly curious.

Enjolras rarely spoke of his family, even of his parents, even though contrary to Grantaire, he had no reason not to - Enjolras’ parents were exactly what you could have expected looking at Enjolras: impossibly rich, gorgeous, and smart, the both of them, and completely adoring of their son. Grantaire had only met them once - they’d been nice to him, but he’d still felt so terribly inadequate in front of them that he’d politely refused Enjolras’ invitations to come visit them back with him in the following years. Grantaire knew that Enjolras had a certain number of cousins, most of them older than him by a few years, and that he’d lost his two grandfathers and one of his grandmothers since Grantaire had met him, but that was it.

“She’s nice,” Enjolras said, glancing at him like he knew what Grantaire was thinking. “But she loves animals, and she’s got a dozen dogs. I’d spend my time sick if I stayed too long in her house, so I always took her horse and went to explore around instead.”

“Of course you did,” Grantaire grinned, imagining little Enjolras with a red nose and watery eyes determinedly leaving the house on a horse far too big for him. “Is that where we’re going then? You secret childhood hideout?”

“One of them,” Enjolras admitted. “It was the only place I could think of where all the elements for the ritual would be present, and we certainly won’t be disturbed here.”

A few minutes later, the trees came to an end and left place to a large pond. Enjolras let go of Grantaire’s hand and put the two bags on the ground, opening them swiftly. When Grantaire glanced inside, he saw a numerous amount of green and not much else. Still, Enjolras took out strings, a bowl and a large wooden spoon, a knife, and a small pot of black paint, before raising his eyes to Grantaire and beckoning him closer. Grantaire crouched next to him.

“I brought several plants meant to be for protection and healing,” Enjolras said, “but this is magic, not alchemy, so I don’t know which ones to use exactly. What do you think? They’re supposed to be hang, so that the wind can carry their scents all around us.”

Grantaire looked into the bag properly this time. Enjolras hadn’t lied, there were all sort of plants there, all carefully tied up in neat little bouquets. Some of them Grantaire was pretty sure he’d never seen in his life, but he immediately singled out the sage and the rosemary - they were the most commonly used plants in rituals: in Fantine’s coven, it was a tradition to rub rosemary against your hands before the beginning of every ceremony. Fantine said it purified your magic. However, he only hesitated a moment before choosing the sage.

“There,” he said, holding the bouquet out to Enjolras. “If this is something for the atmosphere, that’s your best choice. Most of the time people burn them, the smoke is supposed to carry more power, but -”

“It’s not a question of power,” Enjolras cut him distractedly. “Would you mind taking three bundles and tying them up to that branch over there?” he asked, pointing to one of the nearest tree. “I’ll prepare the rest.”

Grantaire obeyed - Enjolras was clearly going into work mode now, and this was familiar. Taking the herbs and a few strings, he carefully completed his task, cursing a few times as the strings refused to hold properly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Enjolras taking a few steps beneath the trees again and picking up berries from a small bush that he put into the bowl. Then he put the bowl near the pond, rose up, and started undressing.

Grantaire choked on nothing and turned to face him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice just a bit too loud.

Enjolras didn’t even look at him, taking off his shirt and starting to work on his belt.

“This is a ritual of purification, Grantaire,” he said calmly. “It concerns my mind, but that doesn’t mean that the body doesn’t play a large part in it, which I’m sure you know. It will simply be easier if I’m naked. You said it earlier,” he added with the hint of a smile as his jeans fell around his ankles and he stepped out of them. “The less the better.”

Grantaire didn’t answer, mostly because he was too busy trying not to look at Enjolras’ naked body and utterly failing. Enjolras, of course, was gorgeous, lean and tall, with well-toned muscles and delicate pale skin. He’d seen him shirtless a thousand times before so his eyes didn’t linger on the tattoos on his back, but fell instead immediately to his ass which was, _obviously,_ absolutely perfect. None of that was a surprise - Grantaire got a glimpse of his cock before he abruptly looked away, a faint noise escaping him.

This really, really wasn’t a good time for this.

“How am I supposed to help you with this if I can’t stop staring at you?” he asked out loud without thinking.

“I’ll be in the water soon enough, don’t worry,” Enjolras answered wryly. “I’m going to need you while I mash the berries, though. You have to paint over the tattoos on my back.”

Grantaire took a deep breath and glanced up at the sage one last time to make sure they were properly tied up before moving back towards Enjolras, who had knelt on the grass and was already focusing all his attention on the berries. Grantaire opened the pot of paint and sat behind Enjolras - it was easier like this to stop thinking about how naked he was. He dipped his finger into the fresh black paint and then raised it to Enjolras’ first tattoo. When he touched Enjolras’ skin, Enjolras shivered.

“Do you remember their names?” he asked quietly. “You’ll need to say them every time you’ve covered a symbol.”

Although they’d only done this a few times, for Enjolras’ most ambitious experiments, retracing the six symbols permanently written down Enjolras’ spine felt infinitely familiar to Grantaire. He starts moving his finger slowly, the paint drying as soon as it touched the ink of the tattoo. Once he had covered the first one, the moon, he said its name, and the symbol seemed to brighten, glistening for a brief moment and drawing a sharp breath from Enjolras before going back to normal. Grantaire kept going carefully, the same phenomena happening each time he said a new name - earth, fire, water and air, and the sun. Once he was done, Enjolras murmured “ _again_ ”, sounding a bit breathless, his hand blindly reaching for the knife that had laid abandoned on the side until now.

Grantaire did what he was told and started once more from the moon symbol. This time, however, he saw Enjolras raise his hand above the bowl of mashed berries, and when Grantaire had said the name, Enjolras echoed it right after him, and then made a small cut across his thumb with the knife, letting a few drops of blood fall into the bowl. Grantaire pressed his lips together but continued. Enjolras repeated the gesture on every one of his fingertips and when Grantaire finished with the last symbol, he opened his palm wide, made a round cut at the center of it with the point of the knife, and then hissed the last name in turn.

“There should be some kleenex in one of the bags,” he said after a minute.

Grantaire obediently went to retrieve them in silence, but when he came back, he grabbed Enjolras’ wrist instead of giving him the tissue and frowned.

“I could do something about that,” he told Enjolras, observing his bloody hand. Enjolras shook his head, making Grantaire raise his eyes to his face. “I thought you didn’t like using blood.”

“I don’t,” Enjolras answered, and then flinched slightly when Grantaire gave up and pressed a tissue against his hand. “But it was necessary for this one. It’s symbolic, you understand? The alchemy is in my blood. Which means - all its negativity is there too. Now all that’s left to do is cleaning the blood off me, which will wash away the bad effects of alchemy. Hopefully my formulas are correct, and the spell I found will make sure that _only_ the worst effects disappear.”

“You’re not sure -”

“We shouldn’t talk about this,” Enjolras cut him off, moving his hand away from Grantaire’s touch. “If I think about it too much, I’m going to decide that it’s not worth the risk, even though I know - I _know_ that it is.”

He stared at Grantaire fiercely, daring him to keep going, but Grantaire only nodded silently. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he would rather come back to Paris with an Enjolras who’d lost his talent for alchemy rather than one obsessed with his experiments and his own self-improvement in spite of everything else. Enjolras’ face softened once more, as if he understood. He raised his arm, and let his fingers brush against Grantaire’s cheek gently.

“My notebook is in my jeans,” he said, calm once more. “I learnt my part by heart, but you’ve got to learn yours. Read the two last pages. I’ll need you to recite the spell once I’ll be in the water.”

“I thought I was only there as your assistant,” Grantaire said with a frown.

“No,” Enjolras’ hand fell back on his lap. “You were always meant to take part in this, I thought I’d made this clear -”

“You told me next to nothing, was I supposed to guess?” Grantaire pointed out with a raised eyebrow. Enjolras’ face closed off, and Grantaire bite his lips. “Why?” he simply asked.

“Because there’s something about you that already makes it better,” Enjolras answered carefully. “It’s always been _easier_ with you, even when I didn’t particularly like you. We could say it’s coincidence, or habit of each other - that’s what I told myself, time and time again, but then you left and everything went badly and I don’t think… There’s something about you, R,” he repeated. “This is why you need to participate. And, besides,” he added with the shadow of a smile, “I don’t have magic, you do. Surely the spell will be more efficient if you’re the one casting it.”

“Well, that’s a good argument,” Grantaire said weakly. “In your pocket you said?”

He scrambled on his feet, his heart pounding hard in his chest. He didn’t know why this had had so much effect on him - Combeferre had told him pretty much the same thing a few weeks before, hadn’t he? And most of their friends had repeated it, in some fashion or another. Even Grantaire had acknowledged it, somewhat. But hearing Enjolras confirming it made him feel… odd. Warm. Feverish. He fetched the notebook, turned to the last pages, and forced himself to read the spell as slowly as he could. It was in greek - not Grantaire’s forte, he was definitely better in latin, but if he took the time, it should be okay.

When he raised his head from the notebook, Enjolras was standing too. His forearms and legs were covered with the berries and blood mixture; some of it had somehow ended up on his face and in his hair. To be honest, he should have looked perfectly ridiculous, but there was something in his firm posture and his stern visage that made it impossible for Grantaire to mock him right now. Instead he cleared his throat, and Enjolras’ eyes jumped from the pond to him.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“When you are,” he answered.

“Stay near the trees,” Enjolras told him, moving forwards. “We don’t know what to expect exactly, I want you safe. When I’ll tell you, you can start reciting the spell.”

Grantaire took a few steps back, staying behind the bundles of sage hanging from the tree. Enjolras turned his back on him and very slowly walked into the water. Morning was practically there now, and he seemed to bathe in the soft light of the sun as the last traces of the night disappeared behind a few grey clouds. He stopped once the water was barely around his ankles, some of the mixture coloring it red already, and then turned his head slightly on the side, just enough that Grantaire could see the line of his determined profile.

“Alright, you can go now,” he said.

As soon as Grantaire started to recite the spell, Enjolras dipped further in the pond until the water reached his hips. Then he started to trace symbols around him, saying something of his own that Grantaire couldn’t hear from where he was standing. It wasn’t until he got to the end of the first page that Grantaire realized that the water was moving, sliding along Enjolras’ arms like sleeves. Enjolras had stopped talking, but Grantaire continued, eyeing worryingly the water, which was now going up Enjolras’ back. The symbols on his back seemed to wake up at the contact, starting to shine brightly, but it didn’t stop the water, which went up and up and -

Grantaire said the last word of the spell. At the same time, Enjolras’ legs seemed to give out under whatever pressure the water was causing, and he disappeared abruptly in the pond without a noise. Grantaire yelled, running forward, but the water rose up like a protective wall, glistening red, and he couldn’t go through it, no matter how many spells he cast, no matter how hard he wished. It seemed to last an eternity, until suddenly everything was back to normal. Unbalanced, Grantaire fell on his knees in the pond, but instead of going out he made his way as quickly as possible to Enjolras, who was back at the surface, laying on his back.

“Enjolras?” he called, breathless, when he arrived to him. “Enjolras!”

Enjolras’ skin was perfectly clean again. His hair was floating around his peaceful face, but his eyes were closed, and he didn’t answer Grantaire. Grantaire shakingly raised his hands and tried to shake him softly, and when that failed too, he moved his fingers to Enjolras’ neck, panic rising up in his throat. When he felt Enjolras’ pulse, steady and strong, he nearly collapsed too, indescribable relief flooding through his veins. After one last second of hesitation, he decided to drag Enjolras back to the ground. The water was cold, and his clothes were sticking to his skin, but this was unimportant. Enjolras wasn’t waking up.

Once Enjolras was laying on the grass, Grantaire murmured the only spell he knew that was supposed to wake someone; he remembered the words from all the times Jehan had used it on him, when Grantaire still drank too much and would fall into a deep sleep everywhere. It didn’t work on Enjolras, though, and Grantaire lost what little remained of his calm, grabbing Enjolras’ hand again and definitely squeezing too hard:

“Come on,” he pleaded. “Come on, wake up, Enjolras!”

His magic pulsed in him, alive and unrestrained, and Grantaire let it out instinctively. A wave of warmth passed through him and Enjolras, whose lips parted slightly, leaving them both dry, their skin a little hot. An insistent odor rose around them, and Grantaire glanced up only to realize that the sage had completely burnt. His eyes filled with tears of frustration. Useless, he thought, everything about him was _useless._ It wasn’t him that Enjolras should have brought with him - anybody else could have been better, surely - Jehan, who’d mastered their own magic when they were still a kid, or Feuilly who could use her own alchemy, or Combeferre and Joly who actually knew how to heal people, or even Bossuet and Bahorel, who might not have any powers but who at least would have known what to _do._

Grantaire hadn’t even thought of taking his phone before leaving. He’d blindly followed Enjolras, because that was the only thing he knew how to do well, and now there they were, stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no way to join any -

His eyes fell on the pond. _Water is a conductor,_ Fantine had said several times. _If you know how to use it well, how to work with it, it can bring you wherever you want._ She’d never showed him the trick to what was, for all intents and purposes, teleportation - she admitted that she herself did it very rarely, and that it drained her of all her energy for hours, completely incapacitating her. What she _had_ taught him, however, was how to communicate through the water.

“What the hell,” he muttered to Enjolras, his voice too high. “What the hell, I need to try, right?”

He moved away from him, licking his lips, and went back to the pond, carefully laying his shaking hand at the surface of the water. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reminiscing himself of Fantine’s words: _Intent and Incantation._ He whispered the small spell almost desperately, several times. His mind was a mess, but his intent was as clear as he could make it: _he needs help._ The water vibrated underneath him. _Please,_ he thought, _please, he needs help, he needs help, he need help, please,_ and said the spell again, and again, until suddenly he heard, clear as day:

“Grantaire?”

Grantaire gasped and opened his eyes again. The pond seemed to have frozen, and the water now looked like a mirror, except instead of seeing himself reflected in it, Fantine’ face looked right back at him, worry and surprise written all over it. Grantaire felt his tears finally starting to fall, from relief this time.

“Fantine,” he said. “Fantine, Enjolras, he needs - he’s not waking up, I don’t know where we are, please, he needs help, he’s not -”

“Grantaire dear, calm down,” Fantine cut him gently. “Tell me what happened, breathe, slowly, and tell me. What happened to Enjolras?”

Grantaire told her everything - Enjolras’ behaviour, the pull of Alchemy growing too strong, Enjolras going too far with Feuilly, and the way they’d arrived there at dawn. He explained the ritual when Fantine asked for details, he said exactly what he’d tried to do without succeeding, and when he was done, Fantine looked paler, but determined, and Grantaire started to feel calmer.

“You’re going to do exactly what I say,” Fantine said slowly but firmly. “I’m going to teach you how to teleport yourself, R, you and Enjolras - you’re going to come here, and we’ll do anything we can do for Enjolras. Alright?”

“I don’t -” Grantaire said weakly. “I thought you’d said -”

“I know,” Fantine said soothingly. “But I know you can do this. You’re going to use the water, and you’re good with it. Everything will be alright. Now -”

Grantaire followed every single one of Fantine’s instructions. He picked up the knife and traced a large circle around Enjolras and him and covered it with tree’s leaves. Then he slowly dressed Enjolras again, as quick and efficient as he could, touching him as little as possible, and turned back to the pond.

“Is everything good?” Fantine asked, and when he nodded, she smiled encouragingly. “Perfect,” she said. “Now, we’re going to break our connection. Tell me the words one last time - it will call the water to you; it should flood the circle you’ve drawn. Then, you’ll need to hold Enjolras tight, and say my name. Don’t hesitate to say it several times. Don’t forget, dear - Intent is the most important. Are you ready?”

Grantaire wasn’t. Nevertheless, he nodded again and then pushed the knife into the mirror, which immediately dissolved and let place to the water again. He turned back to Enjolras, his heart racing in his chest, swallowed with difficulty, and then stepped in the circle, kneeled by Enjolras’ side, and gently pull Enjolras’ head to his lap, before opening his mouth to say the spell.

His skin prickled, and he tightened his grip on Enjolras as the leaves and the water danced together around them, faster and faster until Grantaire had to bend his head, the wind blowing in his ears and drops of water slapping his face. He yelled more than he said _Fantine_ until his voice failed him and he could only repeat it silently. His skin _burnt_ and Enjolras was the one thing that still felt real, _concrete_ , even when he couldn’t feel his own body anymore.

Grantaire was still holding onto him when the world finally faded to black.

 

*

 

There were a few things that he was immediately aware of as he slowly came back to consciousness. First, he was definitely not outside anymore - he was laying on something far too comfortable for that, probably a bed. Someone was also carding their fingers through his hair, and this was really nice too. And then, there were voices, low murmurs that he couldn’t understand and, closer to him, two people speaking - one of them probably being the same who was petting him - in quiet tones that felt very familiar to Grantaire’s groggy mind and that he soon recognized to be his best friends’. Despite his will, his eyelids were far too heavy to lift up yet, so he tried to move his lips instead, without succeeding in making a proper sound.

“Joly,” Bossuet said immediately.

“I saw,” Joly answered. Grantaire heard footsteps, and then felt something being pressed against his mouth. The hand that had been in his hair slid down his neck to help him hold his head up. “There we go,” Joly murmurs. “Drink a little, R, it’ll be easier afterwards.”

The drink, whatever it was, was sweet and warm on Grantaire’s tongue, and the more he drank, the stronger he felt. After a few more tries, he could finally open his eyes, and was met with the sight of a low wooden ceiling. Glancing on the side, he saw Joly putting the cup back on a nightstand - there was a tiny window just above, but only a faint ray of light came out of it. Bossuet was sitting right next to him on the bed and offered him a smile when he realized Grantaire was looking at him.

“Welcome back,” he said, his voice almost forcefully light. “You’ve been sleeping for a while.”

 _Sleeping,_ Grantaire heard, and then suddenly he was seeing Enjolras’ peaceful but unresponsive face in the water, and he remembered all the events that had somehow led him here, wherever _here_ was - probably Fantine and Valjean’s farm. Pulse racing, he tried to sit up, but his body refused to cooperate, and Joly was back at his side in an instant, brows furrowed, putting his hand on his chest. Grantaire licked his lips.

“Enjolras?” he asked.

“Right next to us,” Bossuet replied promptly, pointing his thumb to the right.

There was nothing in that direction apart from an empty bed and the section of wall, but Grantaire thought about the low voices he’d heard earlier, and that he’d dismissed. Now that he was concentrating again, he could hear some murmurs from time to time coming from further away, though he still couldn’t catch words, which was frustrating.

“Is he okay?” he insisted.

Joly sat on the edge on the bed properly. There were tired lines around his eyes and no smile on lips, and it looked so _wrong._ Grantaire had only seen him like this twice since they’d met, and one of them had been when tt’d turned out that Bossuet had a bad reaction to regular medicine and had almost died. Grantaire’s heart clenched in his chest.

“He’s not waking up,” Joly said, squeezing Grantaire’s hand. “We haven’t figured out _why_ yet. He seems perfectly healthy otherwise.”

“I need to see him,” Grantaire said immediately, trying to get up again.

Both Joly and Bossuet stopped him, though Grantaire was pretty sure he wouldn’t have managed to get very far anyway. He felt breathless and annoyed, and fell back on Bossuet, who simply put his arm around his shoulder so that they could both be comfortable.

“You’ll see him,” Joly said gently. “But right now, what you need is rest. Fantine told us you’ve done some incredible magic this morning and that you’ll probably be tired for a while.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but make a face a this, and Joly exchanged a quick glance with Bossuet.

“There’s no reason the others can’t come to see you, though,” he pointed out.

“Oi!” Bossuet shouted. “Grantaire’s awake and he wants cuddles!”

There was a brief moment of silence followed by a myriad of footsteps, but the first one who appeared was a big cat, white and brown and black, who jumped on the bed, mewling loudly, and came to settle on Grantaire’s chest, licking his chin. Grantaire instinctively raised his hand to pet him, but the lump in his throat was back when the others arrived right behind Courfeyrac.

“Tell me you aren’t stuck,” Grantaire whispered to him as Courfeyrac hid his head into his neck.

“He’s not,” Combeferre answered quietly instead of him. “But he woke up this morning without being able to talk properly, and he still had claws. When Fantine contacted us he just transformed - back and forth so that nobody was worried, and then he stayed a cat.”

Grantaire simply nodded, raising his eyes to examine all of his friends. Combeferre looked absolutely miserable, staring at Courfeyrac, and Grantaire figured that no matter how bad he felt, it must be even worse for Combeferre, who was losing his two best friends at the same time. Next to him, Feuilly looked exhausted, and so did Jehan, although they both offered a relieved smile to Grantaire that he wasn’t sure he deserved. Bahorel was the only one who didn’t seem completely out of it - it reassured Grantaire; as long as Bahorel wasn’t defeated, things could still be okay. Bahorel was their rock. Bahorel was the one who raised her eyebrows:

“This bed doesn’t look like it can handle all of us on it,” she said. “But I bet any of you it will.”

Nobody bet against her - they all knew better, and as they gathered around each other, they were proved right once more. Grantaire ended up laying carefully half on Bossuet and half on Combeferre. On the other side of Bossuet’s chest was Joly, nuzzling his neck, and next to Combeferre was Bahorel, who was holding onto him, one leg dangling off the bed. Jehan and Feuilly were on top of them both, and Courfeyrac had found refuge above Combeferre’s head. It wasn’t comfortable at all, and yet Grantaire felt absurdly comforted, one of his hands in Jehan’s hair, the other still holding Joly’s. Courfeyrac was purring softly.

“Does anybody have a plan?” Grantaire muttered after a moment.

“Fantine, Jehan and I have been trying to find out what Enjolras was trying to do the whole afternoon,” Feuilly answered. “Once we finally know, we’ll be able to work from there.”

“What do you mean?” Grantaire frowned. “It was a ritual of purification.”

“No,” Jehan said, and when Grantaire opened his mouth to protest, they shook their head and amended: “Not _only,_ at least. There was some element of strength - the spell he wrote mentioned it, several times. And then, there’s the part that’s all old, incomprehensible runes not even Fantine has seen before.”

“Simplice and her are downstairs in the library, looking for books that might tell us more,” Combeferre said. “They’ve been bringing us what they think might help regularly, but so far we’ve found nothing.”

It was hard to miss the bitterness and worry in his voice. Bahorel awkwardly moved to pat his head without dislodging Courfeyrac.

“Come on,” she said. “At least we know that whatever happened, he’s not suffering, and he’s not getting worse. We’re going to find out what the hell he was planning, and we’re going to make this better.”

Combeferre hummed, and Grantaire closed his eyes, trying to remember what gestures Enjolras had made in the water, without succeeding - he’d been reading the spell, and hadn’t watched Enjolras properly; there had been words too, he’d definitely been speaking, but to say what? Was the pretend ritual of purification just a trick to get Grantaire’s help? It was a ridiculous idea - Enjolras wouldn’t…. But then again, hadn’t Enjolras done a lot of things lately that he would never had just a few months ago? He must have known that if anyone could help him, _would_ help him with very few questions, it was Grantaire. He’d always known about Grantaire’s feelings - there was a time Grantaire cared very little to hide them, and Enjolras was observant enough not to miss something this big with someone who was basically always at his heels.

“ _It’s always been easier, with you,”_ he had said. Had he really meant it like Grantaire thought he did? Or was it only a way to say _it’s easier to get what I want with you?_ And all this hand-holding, just before….

“I love all this cuddling,” Feuilly said, interrupting his dark thoughts, “but I really don’t think it’s sustainable for long.”

“You’re right,” Combeferre said immediately. “We should go back to Enjolras -”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agreed, wanting to chase this new, cruel idea of Enjolras out of his mind. “Let’s all go.”

“R,” Joly protested. “What part of the sentence _you need to rest_ do you not understand?”

“There’s a bed next to Enjoras’ too, right?” Grantaire retorted. “Why can’t I rest there? And why not put us together in the first place, anyway?”

“It was kind of crowded,” Jehan simply answered.

They had gotten up, and Feuilly and Bahorel were already on their feet too. Combeferre moved carefully, mindful of both Grantaire and Courfeyrac, but he left the bed too soon enough, and Joly was right behind him. Grantaire, despite the deep heaviness in his muscles, sat up at the same time as Bossuet, looking at everybody defiantly. Joly rolled his eyes before waving at Bahorel, who made a silent salute and then gently pulled Grantaire at the edge of the bed.

“D’you think you can stand up or should I carry you?” she asked.

“I can do it,” Grantaire told her even though he wasn’t certain at all. “You’ll probably have to help me walk, though.”

He was right. Standing up wasn’t much harder than sitting, but actually moving his legs one after the other requested much more efforts that he had expected, and although there were only a few steps to make, it seemed to last an eternity. Bahorel, Joly and him arrived a good minute after everybody, and Grantaire felt very grateful once he was back on a bed - this one was full of discarded books, and smelt faintly of that very strong perfume Irma adored. She’d have a fit if she saw this mess, he thought somewhat fondly, and promised himself to tidy things up a bit once all of this was over. Right now, everything that wasn’t Enjolras was just a fleeting thought easily discarded.

Enjolras, on the other bed, was laying on his back, breathing quietly, his face as peaceful as Grantaire remembered it to be. Courfeyrac was on his chest, his eyes sharp and alert like he was ready to attack the second someone got too close. Combeferre was sitting next to them, and Feuilly at the end of the bed. She had Enjolras' notebook between her fingers and was turning the pages idly, a thoughtful look on her face.

Bahorel pushed several books out of the way and sat next to Grantaire.

"What if you told us everything that happened now?" She suggested. "Might help, knowing what the hell you two did."

"I thought Fantine told you?" Grantaire frowned.

"She told us what she knew," Jehan replied. "But apparently you were quite panicked when you spoke to her, and she didn't get everything."

"Any details could be important," Combeferre added quietly.

Grantaire swallowed, staring at his hands, then took a deep breath. They were right of course. He couldn't recall exactly what he'd said to Fantine, but he had probably gave only a short, shaky summary between tears. Bahorel nudged his shoulder sympathetically, and Grantaire licked his lips before raising his eyes to look at Enjolras. Then, he started to tell them - about going back to Enjolras' the night before, about Enjolras waking him up and the long drive in taxi (the words got stuck on his tongue as he remembered their intertwined hands, and he omitted that part, keeping it selfishly for himself). He described the clearing - the pond and the trees, the plants around, the fields in the horizon, and then he explained the sage, the paint, the tattoos and the blood.

He was coming to the end of the story - the spell, Enjolras' unheard words and his gestures, then the water - when Fantine and Simplice appeared, both holding ancient-looking books. Fantine smiled when she saw him, offering the books to Bossuet who took them good-naturedly, and moved forward, bending over to kiss Grantaire's forehead.

"I'm very glad to see you awake," she said. "How are you feeling, dear?"

Grantaire only shrugged, although he tried to smile back at her as he did. Fantine nodded like it was enough, and perhaps for her it was, because she then put her business face on again, and glanced at Enjolras and then Combeferre:

“Any changes at all?”

“No, he’s still perfectly stable,” Combeferre answered.

“Fantine and I have a theory,” Simplice said, and everybody turned to look at her immediately. She was staring at Enjolras critically. “We think that perhaps he’s in a transitional state. The spell did what it was supposed to do, except it wasn’t enough - there’s a second part to it, most likely.”

“That could make sense,” Joly said slowly after they mulled it over in silence. “But that doesn’t help us until we know what the spell was about, does it?”

“Well -” Simplice started, but she stopped when at the same time Feuilly cleared her throat and said: “Actually, I think I might have an idea.”

She seemed almost embarrassed by the way everyone’s eyes fall on her. The notebook was still in her hands, opened at the last pages. Bahorel raised her eyebrows at her expectantly, and Feuilly’s fingers ran down Enjolras’ words as she bit her lips:

“You guys remember what I was trying to do with the copper last night?” she asked, glancing around the room. When they nodded, she kept going: “I think he was trying to replicate that, but on _himself._ It wasn’t only purification he wanted, but _protection._ Against the pull, I suppose. The spell he made you say, R, that’s why it talked about strength. It was all about strengthening that protection.”

Grantaire frowned: “But it didn’t work,” he said. “All that we’ve tried, with your copper, it didn’t work, why would he try to do the same thing?”

“Well, it’s not exactly the same thing,” Feuilly amended. “The _intent_ was the same, but everything else was vastly different - the environment, the object, the spell -”

“There must have been something you three did that had him thinking though,” Bahorel pointed out. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence he chose that night to do his ritual.”

“That’s not a coincidence,” Grantaire agreed. “But also not what you think - he was upset at himself. He felt guilty about, you know. What he’d said. I think he just - wanted to be himself again, and last night was the last straw.”

“Enjolras isn’t reckless, though,” Combeferre quietly remarked. “He thinks things through, even when he’s _spontaneous,_ it’s only in appearance; he figures out all the possibilities first before acting.”

“But he’s not been the same -” Bossuet tried to say.

“ _That_ didn’t change,” Combeferre cut him, glancing up to look at all of them sharply. “It became even worse - he was _calculating._ Taking his time, working to make sure he knew how to face every negative consequences. If his ritual had been good enough for him to do it before last night, he would have done it then. Bahorel’s right. Something happened.”

“Magic,” Jehan said calmly in the silence that followed. “That’s what he pointed out first. That we were doing magic, not alchemy. It’s possible he hadn’t thought of that before.”

It made sense, Grantaire admitted privately, and he could see on the faces of the others that they thought the same. The fact that he’d come for Enjolras must have been the perfect opportunity for him - that meant he didn’t have to wait, Grantaire would be there to say the spell. Perhaps that’s why he’d told Grantaire to stay in the house; that way he was directly available for when everything was ready.

“How likely is it that he wrote a spell in only a few hours, though?” Simplice asked with a frown. “Enjolras isn’t a witch, after all, he wasn’t taught that kind of things.”

“He didn’t,” Feuilly and Fantine answered at the same time. They looked at each other, and Feuilly ducked her head as Fantine smiled. “The spell is too old and complicated to be Enjolras’. Not even I could I write it, and I’ve got my fair share of experience in the matter,” Fantine explained. “Of course, that doesn’t tell us how he found it in such little time, and why _this one,_ in particular, that uses a language a lot of witches don’t even know anymore. There are a lot of simpler spells of protection, if this is what he truly intended to do.”

“Perhaps he had heard of that spell before,” Feuilly remarked. “That’s why it’s the one he thought about - he must have come across it while doing researches somehow. If he paid attention to what Grantaire, Jehan and I were doing, he also already knew most simpler protections spells didn’t work.”

“This is leading nowhere,” Grantaire exclaimed, frustrated. He was tired of suppositions - he had no idea how his friends could have been doing this for hours. “We’re not even sure if the spell did what it was supposed to do or not! Anything could have caused this - the place, the plants, the words, hell, even me. _I_ could have done something wrong!”

He hadn’t meant to sound bitter or anxious - hadn’t meant to make it so clear that he thought it might be him who had screwed up. And yet, he’d probably been obvious, because everybody just looked at him in silence for a moment, something like pity in their eyes. Grantaire bristled and stared at Enjolras again so that he didn’t have to confront it.

“We did establish that the spell had done what it was supposed to do,” Bossuet said finally, practical and comforting.

“Besides, it’s Enjolras’ part of the spell which is truly obscure,” Feuilly added. “half of what he’s written is just annotations. It wasn’t anything you did, R,” she added more softly.

“I’m not sure you’re capable of doing anything wrong anyway,” Bahorel said, nudging his shoulder sympathetically. “Perks of yours and Enjolras’ thing and all that.”

Grantaire turned his head sharply towards her, embarrassed to feel his cheeks reddening.

“What thing?” he retorted, perhaps a bit too defensive, trying not to think about the hand-holding, which had seemed so significant in the moment. “There’s no thing between Enjolras and I, trust me I _know.”_

Bahorel just looked surprised by his outburst and raised her eyebrows: “I’m talking about the bond between you two? Fairly sure it _is_ there for everybody to see, R, the whole magical-support thing against alchemy addiction?”

“What?” Grantaire blinked, unbalanced. He hadn’t thought about that at all.

“C’mon,” Bahorel said. “Even if you two never said a thing before, it was made obvious lately that you’ve done something.”

Grantaire just gave her a bewildered look, and then glanced at everybody else - he was somewhat relieved to see that most of them seemed as lost as him, although Combeferre’s eyes were thoughtful, and Fantine was frowning at him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about right now,” he ended up telling Bahorel honestly.

It was Bahorel’s turn to look bemused once she realized that Grantaire wasn’t just being reluctant or secretive. “How can you _not know?”_ she asked. “It’s a binding spell! You must have cast it in the first place!”

“I never casted any binding spell,” Grantaire said. “I wouldn’t even know _how,_ aren’t binding spells very old magic?”

“They are,” said Fantine. She was still frowning. “Bahorel is right though, Grantaire. Enjolras and you have been bonded since I met you. Well, to be completely exact, you are bound to him - I’ve never asked because you both seemed alright with that situation, but most binding spells are supposed to be reciprocal, which is not quite the case between you two.”

“But I would remember doing it!” Grantaire exclaimed.

Now that he thought about it, it didn’t surprise him that much that he’d somehow managed to bind himself to Enjolras. What he’d felt for him, since the beginning, had been too strong, too intense. Of course his magic had to be involved - what wasn’t understandable was that he could not remember the moment; such an act of magic had to have left an impact, a memory, a feeling, at the very least.

“Ancient Magic does not require rituals, it barely requires words if the intent is strong enough,” Combeferre remarked. Fantine nodded in approval. “It feeds from emotions. If you used your magic like you used to, instinctively, at a time when you were feeling something very intense for Enjolras -”

“Don’t I always?” Grantaire retorted and Combeferre’s lips quirked up indulgently. Grantaire was already back to looking Enjolras though; pale, unmoving - they’d been in this situation once, although there had been more blood, and Enjolras’ eyes had been half-open still. And then Grantaire had healed him - and run away. The devotion, he thought, his heart racing. The way he’d been unable not to come back, feeling already so linked to this man he barely knew… “Oh,” he said faintly.

“Not that this isn’t absolutely fascinating, because it is,” Feuilly said. “But if neither Enjolras nor Grantaire were aware of this connection, it doesn’t really help with the current situation.”

“But it does,” Combeferre said, shaking his head. “What if Enjolras realized? We did, in a way, didn’t we? We all realized that it was better when Grantaire was there, which I now suppose is because of this bond. What if he tried to use that?”

“He didn’t just pick Grantaire to say the spell because he was a witch,” Jehan said, straightening up. “He picked him because he _knew_ there was something between them, something positive that helped him be more like himself!”

 _It’s always been easier with you,_ Grantaire remembered again. Jehan was right. Enjolras had tried to tell him - somewhat.

“So he realizes about the bond,” Feuilly said and looked back at the notebook, reading incomprehensible words under her breath. “What if he tried to use it to put the protection around him? The secret main ingredient - he wanted to use a connection that was already there to be able to resist the pull forever.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” Bahorel added, “Because he was already too far gone. So when the purification spell was over, the protection spell did whatever it could - it shut down his body.”

“Because this way, Enjolras is free from the pull,” Joly concluded. “This is exactly what you’ve tried with the copper yesterday, Feuilly. Except the warm red protection is just a comatose state in Enjolras’ case.”

“Well, now that we figured this out,” said Bossuet, “How do we fix it?”

There was a brief silence. Then, Fantine moved pensively at Enjolras’ side, putting her hand on his forehead.

“It wasn’t a bad idea,” she said. “It was actually really clever of him, he was just a bit too late - his and Grantaire’s bond wasn’t strong enough at this point.” She caressed Enjolras’ hair very gently and added: “But the connection is the way to go.”

“Well,” Combeferre said, relief coloring his voice, a real smile softening his tired face. “How lucky is it that Enjolras is also bonded with someone else? Who’s himself bound to most of the people in this room?”

He extended his hand to the cat on Enjolras’ chest. Courfeyrac purred loudly, getting up to jump on his lap.

“That’s it,” Feuilly said, and she was smiling too now, her eyes shining. “That’s how we fix it. By finishing what Enjolras started, but with the strongest bond of all - the one with our familiar.”

 

*

 

This sprung everybody into action. Grantaire, whose body was still weak, was assigned to watching over Enjolras while everybody explored the library and the internet to plan a proper ritual. This suited Grantaire, who sat where Combeferre had been, and observed Enjolras, mulling over all that he’d just learnt. He was rarely alone, despite the way everybody had dispersed so quickly - someone regularly came up to check on them and talked for a little while before another one replaced them. Grantaire wasn’t completely idle either, reading the books that his friends brought him, looking for the same things as them.

Still, his mind kept coming back to this: he’d bound himself to Enjolras. There was a nagging part of his brain which had woken up and made him wonder what it could mean - for him, for Enjolras, for the feelings he’d had for him for so long. Had it been all magic? The complete devotion, the feeling of being whole again at his side, all this _love_ that had made him both miserable and elated so many times? How much of it was Grantaire? The bond was his - that he could be sure of. How desperate must he have been, to instinctively bind himself to this man he’d just met?

What made him feel even more terrible was that he had done so with no consent from Enjolras at all. Grantaire had felt like an annoying parasite several times during the years he’d spent with Enjolras, but he’d often comforted himself with the thought that no matter how frustrated he’d been, Enjolras had always let him come back at his side willingly enough. Had he really had any choice, though? Clearly Grantaire had acted like some sort of lightning rod all those years, helping to keep the pull away, and even though neither of them were aware of it, unconsciously, it might have been the only reason Enjolras was so lenient with him.

The lines in the book blurred as the thoughts made him sicker and sicker. His words became monosyllabic when his friends showed up, and by the time Joly came to check on him, he had given up on talking all together, pretending to concentrate on the book when he hadn’t read a thing in several minutes. Joly took one look at him and pressed his lips together before telling him he needed to rest - Grantaire didn’t fight it. He ended up lying on the bed next to Enjolras’, Joly bent over him.

“Whatever’s going on through your brain right now, remember that it can be a jerk. You’ll have all the time in the world to figure stuff out when Enjolras is awake.”

“I don’t want to figure this out, I want to forget it all together,” Grantaire sighed.

“Sleep,” Joly said with a roll of the eye. “It’ll be good for your body. We’ll wake you when things are ready.”

“I already slept most of the day!” Grantaire protested when Joly moved away, but nevertheless he closed his eyes, and a few minutes later, sleep fell upon him again.

He woke up with a jolt when a cold hand patted his cheek gently. Disoriented, he wondered for a moment if perhaps all of the day had been a dream and he was back at Enjolras’, but then his eyes got used to the low light surrounding him, and he recognized Fantine. She smiled at him and straightened up as he sat up, looking around him. Enjolras’ bed was empty.

“What -” he began immediately.

“Don’t worry,” Fantine interrupted him nicely. “Jean only carried him to the altar, my dear. We needed more space than we have inside, and doing a ritual in a place already full of good energies can only help. I’ve come to fetch you, we’re ready. How do you feel? Do you need some more tisane?”

“Might not be a bad idea,” he admitted reluctantly. His limbs were still heavy. He drank the cup that Fantine immediately gave him, clearly having anticipated his need, and then took in the tired lines around her eyes and frowned. “What time is it?” he asked.

“Somewhere around four in the morning,” Fantine replied. “Your friends all decided that they didn’t want to wait another day before doing this. They all slept a few hours, though,” she added when she saw the unhappy line around Grantaire’s mouth.

“Did you?”

“I’m used to late nights, I’ll sleep tomorrow,” Fantine said with a quick smile. “Now come on. Everything must be ready by now.”

It was strange to walk out of the farm in the middle of the night. The girls dormitory, where they’d been, already had a eery atmosphere, ranks of empty beds on the left and desks on the right, but it was somehow even stranger in the old stairs that creaked under their feet, and in the corridor leading to the front door where some of the portraits hanging on the walls seemed to follow them with their eyes. All in all, Grantaire was glad when they found themselves outside under the moon, large and brilliant and not quite full yet. The air was still warm, and some birds had risen up early, suddenly bursting into song from time to time.

Valjean was waiting for them when they arrived to the forest, a huge lamp in his hands. He greeted Grantaire with a warm smile and then led them to a little stone path that Grantaire had taken multiples times in the course of his four-months stay at the farm for all the ceremonies. He felt his shoulders slowly relax as he moved forward. He hadn’t even noticed that he was so tense. By the time they arrived to the altar, he was oddly peaceful.

The altar of Fantine’s coven was a large, circular, flat stone which was more or less three feet high. It was rather deep in the forest, although the space all around it was huge and clear, the grass never growing too much, leaving the place looking like a well-kept garden despite its complete wilderness. Some of the biggest trees at the edge had bent over the years, and now several branches, full of flowers, had intertwined above the altar and formed a sort of natural roof that let a few thin rays of moonlight filter through it. Someone - Grantaire guessed Jehan - had created five purple-ish orbs that were floating just underneath the branches now, giving more visibility. Fantine hummed in approval at his side and raised her hands quickly, making the light of the orbs brighter and signaling their arrival at the same time.

Everybody was waiting around Enjolras, who was laying on the altar. Grantaire approached them slowly. Enjolras was dressed with the clothes he’d had this morning, but someone had added a long light blue coat to his outfit. His wrists were very loosely tied together by a silver ribbon, and he now had an heavy necklace resting on his chest made of white and blue stones matching the coat.

“Stefilia’s stones,” Feuilly said besides him, making him startle. Grantaire glanced at her, and she pointed to the necklace: “They’re also called Larimar. Bossuet and I went back to my workplace a few hours ago to gather ingredients, and I decided to take that necklace - it was part of my experiment on healing. These stones are rare, but they’re incredibly powerful, they heal your body, your soul, and your mind. I figured it could only help.”

“We’re going for an alchemic approach, then?” Grantaire asked.

“Not really,” Feuilly replied. “We’re trying to finish what Enjolras started, and most of it was magic. And it will also heavily rely on Courfeyrac’s bond to all of us. The runes and symbols and stones are all mine, however. Protection, strength, home, and harmony.”

“Alright,” said Grantaire. “That sounds good.”

“Let’s begin,” said Fantine, who’d stayed a bit behind. They all turned to look at her. Apparently they’d all decided to let her lead this ritual while Grantaire was asleep. “This ritual is about strengthening your bond with Enjolras, helping him wake up and protecting him from the negative effects of alchemy,” she said. “From now on, your thoughts should all be focused on Enjolras. You might not be witches, but intent is still the most important thing in a ritual. Combeferre, please distribute the candles to everyone. Jean, if you’d please start?”

Valjean moved immediately. He grabbed the bag that was at his feet and swiftly opened it before tipping it off towards the ground. Something white fell out of it - salt, Grantaire guessed, the most basic and efficient form of magical protection - and Valjean started to walk backward, slowly forming a circle around all of them. Combeferre, meanwhile, offered a small blue candle to every single one of them apart from Fantine. When Valjean was done, he nodded respectfully at them and stepped out of the circle.

“Thank you, Jean,” said Fantine. Her voice was suddenly lower and softer, oddly musical. “I will now make another circle with the black obsidian powder, and then you will all place yourself around the altar in yet another circle, back to Enjolras.”

It was easy and familiar to be led like this. Grantaire watched from the corner of his eye as Fantine repeated the same gesture as Valjean a moment before with another bag, the black powder falling right next to the salt, the two substances sometimes mingling together. A bird sang a few notes, close to them. Grantaire shivered slightly. Once Fantine was done, he instinctively moved to the right, until he was in front of Enjolras’ feet. Combeferre, who had settled near Enjolras’ head, was the first to turn his back to the autel. Everybody followed him one by one, going clockwise.

He heard Fantine’s light steps in the grass - she was whispering something, but he didn’t understand the words until she was saying them to Joly, who was the closest to him. _Nunc Animum Lucet, s_ he murmured, and from the corner of his eye, Grantaire saw Joly’s candle lighten up. Then, Fantine moved to him, and repeated the words. Grantaire briefly felt her magic around him, and then his candle was burning too. _Your spirit shines now,_ she was saying in latin. The fire was their soul, he thought, and concentrated on the little flame who was dancing in his hands.

“There,” Fantine said lightly. “You can all turn around again, going counterclockwise this time.” Once they had all obeyed, Fantine retreated a few steps back away from them. “Courfeyrac, your turn now.”

Courfeyrac obviously knew what to do, because he nodded, and then carefully put his candle on the ground at his feet before moving forward towards Enjolras. His face was determined, but his eyes were soft and warm when he brushed his fingers against Enjolras’ before grabbing the ribbon between his hands, which seemed to have come back to normal at some point while Grantaire was asleep. He hissed something in a language that Grantaire had never heard and then pulled gently on the ribbon, which grew longer and longer as Courfeyrac walked away from the altar and stopped, this time in front of Bahorel.

Bahorel slightly extended her arms, and Courfeyrac looped the ribbon around her wrists. As soon as it was done, the flame of Bahorel’s candle grew in intensity, illuminating thin lines on the ribbon that Grantaire hadn’t noticed before. Courfeyrac then moved to Joly, and they repeated the same gesture. Grantaire imitated them when Courfeyrac came to him next. The ribbon was warm against his skin. It was filled with energy that left Grantaire feeling as if he was being coddled into a thick and soft blanket. His flame grew. Courfeyrac moved to Bossuet, then to Jehan, then Feuilly and finished in front of Combeferre, whose eyes were half-closed.

By the time Courfeyrac came back to his own candle, everybody looked to be in a sort of happy, comfortable daze. Without letting go of the ribbon, Courfeyrac picked up the candle, then moved again to Enjolras. He carefully put the candle on the altar, and then expertly wrapped the ribbon around his own wrists.

There was a sudden burst of emotions in Grantaire’s chest. Visions of late and loud evenings all together at the Musain crossed his mind, the sound of shared laughter, the feeling of Joly and Bossuet’s affectionate touches, the image of Enjolras, smiling quietly and warmly at him in the dim light of his lab, the memory of their hands intertwined together and then _love,_ so strong, so intense that it left him breathless. He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he had to open them again to look at his friends, the most important people in his life. It was as if he could feel each one of them thanks to the ribbon, feel their hearts beating alongside his own at the same quick rhythm, and he knew with sudden, absolute certainty that all of them were living the same experience than him.

He wondered briefly if it was how Courfeyrac felt all the time.

“This is all good,” Fantine whispered, sounding far away. “We’re close to the end. Please do like Courfeyrac and place your candles on the autel. Then go back to your places, and tell him the words. You know the ones.”

They moved in perfect harmony despite - or perhaps because - of the ribbon linking them all together. As soon as the eight candles were on the altar, their flames grew abruptly so high that Grantaire had a fleeting worry that they would burn up the branches above them before his mind focused on Enjolras - Fantine had been right: he knew what to say. And so did his friends, who all started talking, their voices pleading and soft and hopeful and determined all at once, their words - all different, but all with the same intent, mingling together to form a single message. As their voices got louder, the flames started to turn into a light shade of blue. Grantaire’s mouth was dry. He began talking last.

“Please,” he said, “come back now. We did it, all together, and we need you to wake up - I need you. Please, Enjolras, it’s time. I believe in you.”

He repeated it, several times, catching from time to time some of his friends’ pleas, Bossuet’s _“come on”_ and Joly’s _“it’s all good now”_ , and further away Courfeyrac, his voice so loud and warm, _“we love you”_. He repeated his words until his voice was hoarse and he could only whisper it, his eyes fixed on the altar.

The wave of incandescent energy that hit him - hit _them,_ he saw Joly almost fall from the force of it - took them all by surprise. In an instant the candles were blown out and Grantaire felt the ribbon around his wrist evaporate into silver dust, and he needed a few seconds to get used to the only light of Jehan’s orbs above them again. There was a soft sound in the middle of the sudden silence. Grantaire’s eyes immediately fell on Enjolras.

He was awake.

The relief that washed over Grantaire was so strong it made his legs shaky. They all ran back to the altar, Bossuet and Bahorel both letting out a cheer, and Enjolras slowly sat up, welcoming all of them as they practically jumped on him. The impromptu group hug lasted only until they realize how completely unpractical it was, and they all took a step back to let a flushed and very much alive Enjolras breathe properly, carefully moving on the side to come back on the ground.

Combeferre offered him his arm, but it seemed like he could stand up properly without any trouble. Courfeyrac didn’t need more to go back to him, hugging him fiercely. Enjolras hugged him back even as he rested his forehead against Combeferre’s.

“Welcome back,” Combeferre said quietly.

“Thank you,” Enjolras answered, heartfelt and honest, and then he glanced up to all of them before his gaze settled on Feuilly.

His warm smile turned almost hesitant as he extended his arms again, to her - to all of them, but to Feuilly first and foremost, and there was naked joy on his face when Feuilly didn’t hesitate a second before accepting the invitation. Courfeyrac, beaming, his eyes shining brightly, imitated Enjolras and waved at all of them to come. They all went back to holding each other tightly, except Grantaire, whose feet refused to lead him again to the happy reunion.

He wanted to. There was nothing he wanted more at this moment than feel the warmth of his friends’ bodies all around him as they made sure Enjolras was alright, except perhaps - running. The fear that gripped his stomach was as strong as it was unexpected. He didn’t exactly know what he was afraid of. That something was still going to be different, maybe, or that when Enjolras finally looked at him, there would be judgement - or worse. nothing. None of the emotions he clearly felt now, surrounded by his friends, Courfeyrac still close, Combeferre shoulder to shoulder, all the others looking like they might never let him go ever again. Enjolras was so happy right now; serene too, and apologetic, and so mindful of all of them, his eyes moving from face to face, taking them all in, making sure they were all alright, as if he hadn’t been the one in a coma mere minutes before.

When Enjolras raised his head in his direction, Grantaire averted his gaze briskly and found Fantine looking at him instead. With a jolt, he realized he had completely forgotten that she was still there and his face flushed. How ridiculous must he look right now, how pathetic? Alone, apart from everyone, incapable of rejoicing because of his own petty concerns? His breath started to come up short. Fantine frowned and moved forward.

He couldn’t.

He took a step back, turned away, and he ran, anxiety swirling in his mind like poison in a cup. He didn’t take the stone path but went through the trees instead, moving awkwardly between the tall grass and the brambles. It was easier to see than it had been when they had arrived earlier, the dawn had to be close by now, but his vision was blurry, and he didn’t fall only because he could feel every single particle of energy of the forest; every plant spoke to him, guided him silently, until suddenly he was in front of the familiar little river he had spent so much time at during his stay at the farm and he stopped and fell to his knees, his chest on fire.

He was crying, he understood dimly, although he didn’t know why. His whole body was shaking. In front of him, the water grew agitated as well, unnatural waves and whirlpools disturbing the usually peaceful river. He couldn’t get a grasp of his magic, barely even tried really, his foggy brain too slow to manage it, too insistent that he _wouldn’t be able to_ anyway, because that was and had always been Grantaire’s motto after all: he wasn’t able to. Wasn’t able to be a better person without binding himself to someone who had never asked for it, wasn’t able to even help this person properly when he needed it, wasn’t able to simply be happy that in the end everything had been resolved anyway.

He watched with a sort of anxious disconnect as the water left its bed and splattered on the grass, the trees, and his own feet. He felt paralysed by panic, which fed a certain frustration that twisted his stomach and made him want to throw up and so incapacitated him even more. The cries of the birds seemed outraged. The water rumbled dangerously, and suddenly Grantaire was so angry by such complete incompetence that he wanted to hit - something… someone… _himself_. He pushed his knees against his chest instead and let his head fall on them, holding his wrists firmly together, trying to resist the temptation to push his nails through the skin.

He knew better than to do that, he thought. It never helped, not really and yet - yet - didn’t he deserve - _he knew better._ He needed to calm down, how absurd that sounded to him right now, while his body was nothing but a shell for a myriad of flickering and intense emotions that pulled him from one extreme to another. He could barely breathe right, let alone concentrate on anything, and everything around him was so _loud,_ the water, the animals, the footsteps -

“Grantaire,” said Enjolras very softly from somewhere near him.

Grantaire reluctantly raised his head and the water completely froze, half of it still in the air. His magic was still filling the atmosphere with a nervous, feverish energy, but Enjolras’ voice had been enough to stop the mess that Grantaire had been making. It was so completely in agreement with what Grantaire had reproached to himself a moment ago that he almost laughed, keeping the bitter sound from passing his lips at the last second. Instead, he observed Enjolras, who looked as if he didn’t quite know what to do, his eyes gentle and worried.

It occurred to Grantaire that he had never let himself be that vulnerable in front of Enjolras before. It was hard not to be honest around him, and Grantaire had never been able to hide behind his obnoxious, boisterous personality as well as usual with Enjolras, who seemed to cut through his bullshit with one unimpressed look every time. It was exactly why he’d done his best to stay away from him when he felt like this - anxiety, frustration and despair eating at him little by little until he couldn’t control anything. Enjolras had already seen so much of Grantaire’s worst parts, but this one, out of all of them, might have awoken something like _pity,_ and the mere idea of Enjolras pitying him made his blood run cold.

Of course, Enjolras knew anyway, at least in theory. Grantaire was always too obvious after too many drinks, and Enjolras listened, even when it didn’t look like it. It was different to know and to see however, and he wondered why it was him who had come to Grantaire now, and not Joly or Bossuet, who were no strangers to those panic attacks.

“Did you know,” he said, because he couldn’t bear the silence anymore, “That water is one of the best conductor for magic? When the magic is raw and untrained, at least. It’s apparently the first thing that little witches are taught to do, master the water to master your magic. It’s truly amazing how four months of intense catching up to all the things I should have known years ago can be blown away in an instant by emotions. Why do we even have those? Why does humankind _praise it?_ Emotions are fickle and useless, they make us completely irrational and, frankly, one should never be proud of being an emotional person, because this is one of the great flaw of humankind - everything starts with emotions, especially bad decisions.”

“You’ve been eulogizing emotions and creativity over dry rational spirits for years, R,” Enjolras replied calmly, taking a few confident steps towards him.

“Well, I changed my mind,” Grantaire muttered.

Enjolras sat on the grass in front of him. He looked far more rested than he had those past few few weeks, and his eyes were sharp and bright. Grantaire’s stomach twisted when he affectionately smiled at him.

“Emotions just saved me,” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” Grantaire said quietly. “I’m… very glad of that. I _am_.”

“I know,” Enjolras replied.

He slowly raised his hands and curled his fingers around Grantaire’s wrists. Grantaire startled, his eyes widening. He could hear Enjolras’ heartbeat, slow and steady - now, this wasn’t right, he could _feel_ Enjolras’ heart beat alongside his own in his chest. It was as clear as the sensation of Enjolras’ hands on his skin. There was something else too, something like warmth and tenderness, and Grantaire blinked several times, his eyes wet, before slowly breathing out. Behind Enjolras, the water went back gently into the river without waves.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Grantaire said without looking away from Enjolras. “The bond, I didn’t even _know -_ ”

“I realized,” Enjolras cut him. “At least, I did when you said you didn’t know why you should have assumed you’d be part of the ritual. I thought we’d have time to talk about it properly later,” he added, his lips curling up a bit more. “At the time, it seemed almost secondary. Like a lot of things,” he finished, his tone more unhappy.

“It was secondary,” Grantaire agreed. “The only important thing was you, and getting better.”

“And now I am,” Enjolras said.

“You are,” Grantaire nodded, a weak smile on his lips. “Did I mention that I’m very very glad -”

“You did,” Enjolras grinned, and then his gaze grew more serious. “R, what I said, before the ritual, yesterday… I meant it.”

There was no doubting him - Enjolras wouldn’t toy with him like that, and they both knew it. Still, alongside the sudden joy and excitement, Grantaire felt almost hesitant:

“Aren’t you afraid?” he asked in a breath. “That this is all - unnatural, that the bond….”

“The bond has nothing to do with feelings, R,” Enjolras said. “The bond is _practical,_ it does not affect my love for you in any way.”

“Love,” Grantaire repeated weakly.

“Yes,” Enjolras whispered. “Love.”

He slowly pulled Grantaire’s wrists to him, caressing them with his thumbs, and then brought Grantaire’s fingers to his lips and kissed them. There was nothing but gentleness in the gesture, but Grantaire’s new awareness of Enjolras made him almost dizzy with adoration as he took in Enjolras’ feelings, so strong, so passionate, so overwhelming. He tried to move forwards, the need to be close to Enjolras intense and uncontrollable, before realizing that his current position was rather too awkward for it. Enjolras smiled again, as if he knew which - he probably did, and let go of one of Grantaire’s hand to get on his feet, pulling Grantaire up at the same time.

This brought Grantaire back to reality - the forest around him, running away, their friends that must be worried right now when they should all be rejoicing. The thought of them, more than anything else, made him raise his eyes to meet Enjolras’:

“We should - go back,” he said, somewhat reluctantly. “You all shouldn’t be deprived of each other. They’ve missed you so much.”

“I know,” said Enjolras, and Grantaire could hear the note of pain in his voice. “I was - there’s a lot of talking to do, a lot of mending, no matter what they’ll say right now. First, they should all sleep, though,” he added with a frown. “Combeferre told me that they were up all night.”

Grantaire couldn’t help it. He laughed. It was such a delightfully Enjolras thing to say -

“They won’t go to sleep until we’re back,” he said afterwards.

“Then we should go,” Enjolras nodded, his lips curled up once more. “If you’re ready?”

“Yeah,” said Grantaire. “Yeah, I am.” Although, as soon as Enjolras turned his back on him to start going back, Grantaire’s heart quickened and he couldn’t help but shout: “Wait!”

Enjolras immediately turned around, worried, but Grantaire only walked to him fast, feeling breathless, and put his hand on the back of his neck, rising on his tiptoes. Enjolras looked at his lips, and Grantaire thought that if he kissed him now - if he decided to do it, Enjolras would not push him away. Enjolras would probably kiss him back. The idea was tempting - more than tempting - but Grantaire wanted their first kiss happen when they'd both have time to enjoy it properly, to savour it. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to talk about it first, too.

And so instead he hugged Enjolras fiercely, burying his head into his chest, and smiled when he felt Enjolras' arms wrap around him before closing his eyes.

"Just a moment more," Enjolras breathed into his hair.

"Yes," Grantaire agreed. "Just that."

 

 

*

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on my [ Tumblr! ](http://somuchbetterthanthat.tumblr.com)


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